e  Flami 


II 


A  HONOLULU 

MOVEL 


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THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 


THE 

FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

A  Honolulu  Story 


BY 
ROGER  SPRAGUE 


BERKELEY.  CAL. 

LEDERER,  STREET  AND  ZEUS 

1917 


o^ 


A 


Copyright,  1917 
By  Roger  Sprague 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  On   Board   the   Steamship   Nevada  1 

II  Predatory    Wealth        -      .      -      -  9 

III  Yachting    in    the    Tropics      -      -  23 

IV  The    Roof    Garden       -      -      -      .  40 
V  Frank  Atten,  Secretary      -      -      -  51 

VI  Motoring   in   the   Tropics         -      -  66 

VII  Plots  and  Counterplots      -      -      -  84 

VIII  The  President  of  the  Cosmos  Club  95 

IX  To    the    Hills 110 

X  The   Bungalow 127 

XI  Charley    Deane 139 

XII  Malefactors 152 

XIII  Citizens    of    Japan      -      -      -      -  158 

XIV  Night    Work          -      -      -      -      -  174 
XV  Through    Dust    and    Foam      -      -  189 

XVI  The  Master  of  the  Agamemnon      -  204 

XVII  A    Change    of    Base     -      -      -      -  218 

XVIII  The  Home  of  the  Sugar-Planter    -  232 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX  An    Escape 248 

XX  A    Capture       ------  263 

XXI  The  Palace  of  the  Island  King      -  280 

XXII  Coburn  to   the   Rescue      -      -      -  300 

XXIII  Beneath  the  Breadfruit      -      -      -  315 

XXIV  Koko    Head 330 

XXV  The    Cliff         ------  341 

XXVI  Marjorie  Burl 348 

XXVII  At  Home  in  the  Tropics         -      -  360 


OA 

— 

FOREWORD 

Most  of  the  local  color  in  this  story  is  photo- 
graphic. But  the  Crossroads  and  Cosmos  Clubs 
do  not  exist;  the  X  Sugar  Company  is  fiction,  not 
fact;  and  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the 
territorial  Capitol^ — some  features  altered,  others 
added  free  gratis.  Nor  can  the  story  be  taken  as 
a  brief  in  favor  of  the  hero's  rather  eccentric 
business  methods.  All  characters  and  incidents 
are  fictitious,  and  no  statement  refers  to  any 
person  or  company. 

Time  of  the  story:   April,  1913. 

R.  S. 


In  the  Hawaiian  Islands — 

Land  of  smoldering  volcanoes  and  mixed  races. 

Where  the  most  primitive  conditions  linger  beside  the 

most  modern. 
And  methods  match  conditions. 


THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

I 

ON    BOARD    THE    STEAMSHIP    NEVADA 

Stately  Island  liner  steering:  toward  Hawaii, 
Steaming-  where  the  coral  grows  and  sunshine  glares, 

For  a  cargo  of  sugar, 

Bananas,   pineapples, 
Cocoanuts  and  copra  and  alligator-pears. 

With  apologies  to  John  Mas^field 

THE  Royal  Palm  liner  "Nevada,"  westward 
bound  from  San  Francisco  to  Honolulu  and 
Japan,  plunged  through  the  waves  at  the 
rate  of  eighteen  knots  an  hour,  a  modem  hotel 
driven  by  steam  across  the  blue  spaces  of  the 
Pacific.  The  day  was  dazzlingly  bright — a  brilliant 
tropical  morning.  In  the  dancing  light  the  steam- 
ship made  a  spirited  picture,  with  its  twin  red 
funnels  and  high  straight  stem  and  a  string  of 
gaudy  signal-flags  fluttering  indigo  and  white 
and  yellow.  The  sun  flashed  fire  from  the  brass 
ports  studding  the  liner's  black  sides.  Along  the 
boat-deck  white  canvas  awnings  were  stretched 
where  passengers  lounged  in  lazy  deck-chairs  that 
trembled  to  the  vibration  from  the  drive  of  the 
triple  turbines.  The  throb  of  the  engines,  the 
rumble  of  the  propellers,  the  rhythmic  rise  and 
fall  of  the  long  steel  hull  as  it  rode  the  seas,  all 
spoke  of  speed  and  progress,  which  were  hurrying 
them  on  toward  the  trade-winds  and  tropical 
color  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands. 


2  *  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Already  the  ship  had  come  more  than  two 
thousand  miles  from  the  mainland. 

For  an  hour  Hawaii  had  been  in  sight.  In 
plain  view  lay  an  island  where  the  waves  were 
streaming  toward  a  shore  fringed  with  the  vivid 
green  of  palm  groves  and  the  ragged  outlines  of 
volcanic  rocks. 

Among  those  who  were  looking  toward  the 
land,  no  one  stared  more  intently  than  Kenneth 
Crane.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  crossed  the 
deck  to  the  ship's  rail,  where  he  looked  landward 
with  eager  interest  and  a  thrill  of  gratification, 
as  his  eye  followed  the  slopes  of  jungle-clad  hills 
to  where  their  summits  lifted,  darkened  by  the 
shadows  of  clouds.  While  the  rest  of  that 
chattering,  laughing  crowd  of  passengers  thought 
of  nothing  but  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  he 
studied  those  island  hills  with  a  most  business- 
like air.  He  regarded  them  as  the  scene  of  his 
coming  work,  for  within  their  valleys  and  beyond 
their  slopes  he  should  have  to  find  the  solution 
of  the  problem  he  had  come  to  solve. 

Crane  was  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind.  And  it 
seemed  as  though  he  had  sufficient  reason.  When 
a  man  has  been  commissioned  to  go  to  the  very 
corner  of  the  world  where  he  has  always  wanted 
to  go,  and  when  his  business  entails  the  carrying 
out  of  just  such  an  adventurous  program  as  he 
should  have  loved  to  plan  if  left  to  his  own  devices, 
he  ought  to  feel  satisfied  with  fate. 

His  lungs  expanded  as  he  looked  across  the 
sun-spangled  waves  to  the  homes  and  hotels  along 
the   shore   beneath   the   palms.     The   trade-winds 


ON  BOARD  THE  NEVADA  3 

were  blowing  out  of  his  system  the  last  lingering 
traces  of  San  Francisco  fog.  While  he  watched 
the  play  of  light  and  shade  and  cloud  and  color, 
with  the  sunlight  glittering  over  all,  he  felt  himself 
carried  away  on  a  wave  of  appreciation. 

What  a  glorious  thing  it  is  to  be  healthy  and 
young  and  full  of  vitality,  with  a  definite  place  in 
the  world  and  a  definite  work  to  do, — ^when  the 
place  and  the  work  are  altogether  to  one*s  taste! 
Crane  felt  as  though  everyone  was  his  friend  that 
morning,  and  when  someone  came  to  his  side  and 
began  to  speak  to  him,  he  turned  to  the  speaker 
with  his  happiest  smile, — the  more  readily  since 
the  person  was  a  young  lady  and  good  looking. 

The  girl  looked  up  brightly,  as  she  leaned  on 
the  deck-rail.  Her  lips  seemed  to  have  a  habit  of 
parting  in  a  dazzling  way  on  the  smallest  provoca- 
tion. Wearing  a  flamingo-pink  jacket  and  linen 
skirt  and  white  cape-collar  and  belt,  with  her  blond 
hair  arranged  in  a  very  high  and  fluffy  fashion, 
she  made  a  picture  he  liked  to  admire.  But  she 
brought  his  mind  back  to  the  landscape. 

"It  looks  like  a  dream  of  the  tropics,  doesn't 
it?"  she  was  saying. 

"Doesn't  it,  though,  Miss  Burl!  *Every  prospect 
pleases,  and  only  man  is  vile'." 

"You're  quite  severe  on  the  Honolulu  people." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  be ;  but  if  I  were  at  liberty 
to  tell  you  the  business  that  brings  me  here,  you 
might  be  pessimistic,  too ;  that  is,  pessimistic  about 
some  of  them,  the  thundering  spiders!" 

"What  strenuous  insects!  But  I  suppose  they 
average  up  pretty  much  as  people  do  everywhere." 


4  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"I  suppose  so.  We  legal  men  see  too  much  of 
the  seamy  side  of  things.  I  happen  to  be  on  the 
track  of  a  bunch  of  bloodsuckers,  but  I  mean  to 
reform  them.  After  I've  effected  their  reformation, 
I'll  be  more  optimistic  over  humanity.  And  this 
morning,  I  meant  to  forget  all  about  business,  and 
devote  myself  to  sightseeing.  It's  my  introduction 
to  the  tropics.  Isn't  it  like  landing  in  a  new 
planet?" 

It  did  seem  a  good  deal  like  arriving  in  a  strange 
planet,  there  was  so  much  that  was  novel  in  sight. 
The  ultramarine  of  the  sea  was  spangled  with 
flying-fish  that  glittered  like  silver  as  they  flashed 
from  the  crests  of  the  low  waves.  From  the  shore 
rose  the  brown  sides  of  a  burned-out  volcanic 
crater,  lifting  their  huge  circle  abruptly  from  the 
water.  The  crater  formed  a  headland,  around 
which  all  vessels  arriving  from  the  mainland  must 
come.     It  was  known  as  Diamond  Head. 

Around  Diamond  Head  the  steamship  "Nevada'* 
steered  on  the  last  stretch  of  its  voyage.  Swinging 
a  quarter  of  a  circle,  the  vessel  shaped  a  straight 
course  for  the  harbor  of  Honolulu,  now  lying  in 
plain  sight  about  four  miles  away.  Harbor  and 
city  were  betrayed  by  the  tall  masts  of  ships  and 
the  heavy  funnels  of  ocean-steamers.  As  the 
"Nevada"  raced  along  parallel  to  the  beach  at 
Waikiki,  the  passengers  crowded  to  the  starboard 
rail,  for  they  had  come  into  full  view  of  one  of 
the  loveliest  tropical  pictures  the  world  offers. 

Color!  Color  and  sunlight!  Blue  waves,  and 
surf,  and  palm- waved  shore;  green  glitter  of  wide 
rice-lands;  alluring  slopes  of  tree-covered  hills,  all 


ON  BOARD  THE  NEVADA  5 

glowing  beneath  a  sky  which  arched  in  turquoise- 
blue,  crowned  by  a  dazzling  sun.  Crane  watched 
the  picture  with  the  rest,  lingering  over  every 
feature.  His  gaze  followed  the  long  waves  as  they 
rolled  landward. 

The  smoking  surf  was  rumbling  thunderously 
over  a  reef  to  reach  the  curving  shore,  up  which 
the  water  glided,  tamed  to  softness.  Along  the 
dazzling  strip  of  beach  tall,  slender  palms  were 
waving,  the  shimmering  green  of  their  branches 
contrasting  vividly  with  the  coral  sand.  Brown 
bungalows  peeped  out  from  between  their  trunks. 
Beyond  the  palms  the  rice-fields  lay,  two  miles  of 
vivid  green.  And  farther  off,  across  the  level  land, 
there  loomed  the  dark  green  of  high  hills,  their 
contours  broken  by  deep,  romantic  valleys  and 
culminating  in  a  line  of  peaks  where  lay  a  long 
white  roll  of  trade-wind  clouds.  With  an  indigo- 
blue  sky  as  a  background  for  the  picture,  and  a 
glorious  golden  sun  gilding  every  feature,  all  who 
saw  it  felt  that  their  rosiest  ideas  of  the  tropics 
were  being  realized. 

But  natural  scenery  is  as  uninteresting  to  many 
as  it  is  attractive  to  others.  Crane  and  Miss  Burl, 
still  leaning  on  the  rail  side  by  side,  had  forgotten 
everything  else  in  the  fascination  of  the  landscape, 
when  they  were  interrupted  by  someone  who  had 
come  to  Crane's  side  and  was  saying, 

"What  the do  all  these  fools  see  to  look  at?" 

Crane  turned  quickly.  It  was  a  lean,  dark- 
haired  young  man  who  had  approached  and  was 
speaking.  Miss  Burl  colored  and  walked  away. 
Crane  spoke  up  warmly. 


6  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"If  you  can't  appreciate  the  scenery  yourself, 
sir,"  he  said,  "that  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
insult  those  who  can." 

"Scenery!  Scenery!'*  the  other  answered,  and 
it  would  be  impossible  to  suggest  the  sneering 
contempt  in  his  tone.  "I  see  nothing  but  rocks 
and  dirt,  piled  up,  with  some  brush  to  cover  them." 

Crane  remembered  the  fellow,  now.  His  name 
was  Carding,  and  he  was  returning  to  his  home 
in  Honolulu,  after  having  spent  the  last  four  years 
on  the  mainland,  in  pursuit  of  an  education.  It 
occurred  to  Crane  that  culture  must  have  had  no 
place  in  Carding's  college  course. 

"He  may  have  had  a  technical  training  along 
some  line  or  other,"  he  thought.  "If  so,  that  was 
all." 

And  Crane  leaned  back  against  the  rail  and 
studied  him  for  a  moment. 

"Probably  his  principal  occupation  in  college, 
was  sowing  a  sackful  of  wild  oats  and  reaping  a 
crop  of  bad  habits.  But,  if  he  doesn't  look  out, 
he'll  get  into  trouble,"  and  Crane  grinned  as  he 
watched  the  comedy  which  was  coming. 

Carding  was  moving  slowly  and  haughtily  along 
the  deck,  ignoring  everyone.  A  dozen  of  the  crew 
were  bringing  a  hawser  which  would  be  needed 
later  in  making  the  steamer  fast  to  its  pier.  The 
men  rushed  aft  with  the  heavy  rope.  It  struck 
Carding's  feet.  He  sputtered  and  staggered  for 
a  moment,  then  lost  his  balance  and  fell  forward 
on  his   nose. 

"Pride  goes  before  a  fall,"  thought  Crane,  and 
he  turned   away.     But  a  moment  later  the   two 


ON  BOARD  THE  NEVADA  7 

were  required  to  stand  in  line  side  by  side,  for 
now  the  steamer  was  nearing  the  harbor  and  the 
passengers  were  being  lined  up  for  the  quarantine 
inspection.  Carding,  in  spite  of  his  misadventure, 
appeared  to  be  in  a  better  frame  of  mind  than  he 
had  been  a  few  minutes  before.  His  sour  features 
were  twisted  into  an  attempt  at  a  smile,  as  he 
inquired  whether  Crane  "had  any  friends  in  the 
Islands?" 

Crane  had  half  started  to  say  that  he  carried 

"a  letter  of  introduction  to  a  lieutenant  at  Fort 

Ruger,"  when  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  answered, 

"No — no  friends.    1*11  have  to  herd  at  hotels  with 

the  rest  of  the  tourists.'* 

Half  an  hour  later  the  "Nevada"  was  at  its  dock, 
the  gang-plank  had  been  run  out,  and  the 
passengers  were  going  ashore. 

There    was    a    crowd    on    the    pier,    below    the 
gangway,  and  it  was  a  picturesque  crowd;  men  in 
white  linen  suits,  women  in  white  linen  dresses, 
curio-sellers  with  models  of  native  canoes,  bare- 
footed   boys    calling    the    "Advertiser",    Hawaiian 
flower-sellers,  their  hats  and  shoulders  radiant  with 
wreaths.   Some  of  the  ladies  in  white  linen  dresses 
also  wore  wreaths, — "leis"  they  called  them.     And 
from    the    crowd    came    a    medley    of    cries    and 
requests. 
"Hotel!    Hotel,  sir?" 
"Nice  canoe,  mister.    Made  it  myself." 
"Excursion  to  the  Pali.     Start  right  away." 
"Hawaiian  flowers.     Best  in  Honolulu." 
"Advertiser!     Advertiser!     All  about  the  double 
murder !     HORRIBLE ! !" 


8  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Crane  paid  no  attention  to  any  of  these 
distractions.  As  he  stood  beneath  the  long  shed 
of  the  pier,  he  looked  around  him  as  though  in 
search  of  something  or  someone. 

"And  now  to  find  the  lieutenant,"  he  thought. 
"They  told  me  they'd  have  him  here  to  meet  me — 
and  I  guess  that  is  my  man." 

The  lieutenant  was  not  a  difficult  man  to 
identify,  for  his  height  was  six  feet,  four.  He 
carried  his  uniform  well;  his  dark  blue  tunic, 
his  gilded  shoulder-straps  and  his  high  military 
cap  became  him.  The  deep  visor  of  his  cap 
descended  until  it  almost  met  a  heavy  red 
mustache.  But  as  Crane  peered  up  beneath  the 
visor  he  caught  the  gleam  of  a  pair  of  eye- 
glasses, and  behind  them  he  saw  a  pair  of  good- 
humored  blue  eyes. 

"Is  this  lieutenant  Sherrill?"  Crane  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  have  a  letter  introducing  me,"  and  he 
extended  his  letter  of  introduction. 

"Oh,  you're  Mr.  Crane.  Very  glad  to  meet  you, 
sir,"  and  the  lieutenant  shook  hands  with  a  hearty 
grip.  "I  have  a  machine  outside  the  dock.  If 
you'll  let  me  take  you  to  the  Crossroads  Club,  I 
can  offer  you  some  lunch,  and  we  can  talk  later." 

"I'm  with  you,"  and  Crane  and  the  lieutenant 
left  the  pier  together. 

"And  I  think  you'll  find  my  talk  interesting," 
Crane  added  in  a  lower  tone.  "We  are  planning 
to  give  the  officers  of  the  X  Sugar  Company  the 
surprise  of  their  lives." 


II 

PREDATORY    WEALTH 

THE  Crossroads  Club  had  its  quarters  in  a 
quiet  part  of  Honolulu,  directly  behind  what 
had  once  been  the  royal  palace.  But  monarchy 
had  been  abolished  from  Hawaii,  and  the  palace  had 
been  transformed  into  an  executive  building  for 
the  use  of  territorial  officials.  The  residences  behind 
it,  once  the  homes  of  wealthy  people,  had  descended 
to  various  and  sundry  uses.  The  one  which  the 
club  occupied,  stood  at  the  intersection  of  two 
narrow  and  shady  streets,  its  beautifully  planned 
grounds  protected  by  low  walls  of  coral  rock.  At 
the  corner  there  was  a  wrought-iron  gate,  where 
the  two  men  entered. 

Behind  the  wall! — a  blaze  of  flowers,  a  wealth 
of  verdure,  a  cloud  of  fragrance  floating  on  the 
breath  of  the  trade-wind.  The  waving  of  palm 
branches  pleased  the  eye, — the  splashing  of  foun- 
tains made  music  for  the  ear.  Half  hidden  by 
trees,  the  club-house  stood  before  them — a  square 
structure,  with  many  doors  and  windows,  and 
balconies  on  both  floors.  They  followed  a  path 
across  the  lawn  to  the  low  entrance,  and  ascended 
to  the  second  story,  which  contained  the  dining- 
room. 

The  streets  of  the  city  were  baking  beneath 
the  bright  April  sun,  but  this  room,  with  its 
windows  wide  open,  was  fanned  by  the  trade-wind. 


10  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

which  came  rustling  through  the  leaves  of  trees 
that  shaded  the  verandah.  The  lieutenant  ushered 
Crane  to  a  round  table  which  was  ornamented 
with  a  bouquet  of  purple  hibiscus  blossoms. 

The  lunch  was  excellent.  Crane  attacked  it  with 
a  sprightly  appetite,  after  his  five  days  on  board 
the  steamer.  They  postponed  all  discussion  until 
after  the  meal,  when  they  adjourned  to  a  verandah 
which  overlooked  the  lawn  with  its  scattering  of 
tropical  shrubs  and  trees.  They  stretched  them- 
selves lazily  in  long  rattan  chairs.  The  lieutenant 
lit  a  cigar. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Crane;"  he  said,  "if  you'll 
enlighten  me  as  to  how  the  situation  stands,  and 
just  what  I  can  do  for  you,  I'll  be  only  too  glad 
to  take  up  the  business  with  you." 

The  chairs  were  so  easy,  and  the  day  was  so 
delightful,  that  Crane  fairly  hated  the  idea  of 
"getting  down  to  business."  But  the  officer  had 
come  to  the  point  at  once.  Except  for  them,  the 
verandah  was  vacant,  and  they  might  speak  freely. 

"Let's  get  on  common  ground  first,"  Crane 
answered.  "I  suppose  you  are  pretty  well  posted 
on  the  trouble  that  brings  me  here." 

"I  know  it's  a  case  of  a  sugar-plantation  and 
predatory  wealth,  although  I  can't  say  I  have  paid 
close  attention  to  the  details.  But  I  remember 
how  the  X  Sugar  Company  was  started;  ten  years 
ago,  and  by  men  who  were  unable  to  put  up  the 
necessary  capital." 

"They  could  advance  only  a  small  part  of  it." 

"They  were  able  to  launch  the  enterprise  only 
by  the  selling  of  stock.     At  that  time  there  was 


PREDATORY  WEALTH  11 

a  great  deal  of  building  activity  in  Honolulu. 
Mechanics  from  the  mainland  had  come  here  in 
large  numbers,  and  were  receiving  high  wages. 
A  large  amount  of  the  stock  was  sold  to  them, 
much  of  it  above  par,  for  they  saw  sugar 
plantations  paying  their  shareholders  dividends  of 
from  ten  to  twenty  per  cent." 

"They  expected  to  get  the  same." 

"But,  you  know  it  takes  time  to  break  ground 
on  a  plantation  and  to  plant  the  cane.  And  after 
that,  three  years  must  elapse  before  a  crop  is 
harvested.  The  stockholders  could  not  expect  a 
dividend  in  less  than  four  years.  Meanwhile,  the 
building  boom  in  Honolulu  came  to  its  natural 
conclusion.  When  the  work  was  completed,  the 
mechanics  began  to  drift  back  to  the  mainland. 
So  those  stockholders  returned  to  California, 
carrying  their  stock  with  them,  and  looking 
forward  to  the  day  when  it  would  yield  returns. 
But  you  know  the  result." 

"That  day  hasn't  come  yet." 

"Precisely, — and  that  about  sums  up  my  know- 
ledge of  the  case." 

"And  I  know  what  came  after,"  Crane  answered. 
"When  the  first  crop  of  sugar  was  sold, — and  it 
was  a  good  one, — not  one  cent  was  set  aside  as 
a  dividend  for  the  shareholders." 

"Part  of  the  money  was  used  in  paying  liberal 
salaries  to  the  manager  and  officers." 

"And  all  the  remainder  was  used  in  enlarging 
the  plantation,  and  in  purchasing  additional  equip- 
ment." 

"And  the  same  system  has  been  followed  to  the 


12  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

present  day.  Every  year  the  plantation  gets  bigger, 
and  the  salaries  of  its  officers  grow  larger,  and 
not  a  single  dividend  has  yet  been  declared." 

"That's  the  situation,"  Crane  replied.  "The  four 
men  who  launched  the  enterprise  and  who  have 
continued  to  hold  the  offices  of  president,  secretary, 
treasurer  and  manager,  have  always  kept  the 
majority  of  the  stock  in  their  own  hands.  To 
start  the  plantation  they  used  the  money  obtained 
by  a  sale  of  the  minority  of  the  stock,  but  they 
have  never  paid  a  cent  to  the  minority  stock- 
holders.. Of  course,  many  of  those  stockholders 
sold  out  long  ago  for  what  they  could  get.  But 
there  still  remain  two  hundred  in  California  who 
have  clubbed  together,  and  who  have  pledged 
themselves  not  to  let  go.  I,  as  you  know,  am 
the  president  of  their  organization,  and  am  here 
as  their  representative." 

Crane  was  fairly  seething  with  the  subject  now, 
and  he  began  to  overflow  with  facts  and  figures. 

"In  case,  lieutenant,  that  you  have  not  kept 
track  of  the  situation,  let  me  show  you  the  last 
annual  report  of  the  company.  Here  is  the 
manager's  salary, — fifteen  thousand  dollars  per 
annum.     And  what  does  he  do  for  it?" 

"He  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  last  year  traveling 
in  Europe." 

"The  real  manager,  as  things  stand  at  present, 
is  the  overseer,  the  'head  luna'  as  they  call  him 
in  the  Islands.  He  is  a  very  competent  man,  but 
he  receives  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 
month.  The  president,  secretary  and  treasurer 
are  each  down  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars  a  year. 


PREDATORY  WEALTH  13 

What  do  they  do?  Nothing  but  sign  their  names 
to  reports  prepared  by  clerks!" 

"Oh,  I  guess  they  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  expenses," 
interrupted  the  lieutenant. 

"Yes,  I  presume  they  do,"  Crane  admitted.  "But 
their  salaries  are  inflated,  and  these  figures 
represent  only  a  fraction  of  what  they  have  been 
receiving.  Each  has  been  drawing  'salary  and 
expenses.'  Their  expenses  have  included  anything 
and  everything  they  wanted,  from  $50,000  homes 
to  limousines.  TheyVe  been  getting  rich  at  the 
game.  They  started  poor.  Now  they  are  becoming 
'malefactors  of  great  wealth.' 

"Well,  so  much  for  history.  Here  is  the  present 
situation;  eight  sugar  plantation  in  this  island, — 
seven  of  them  managed  honestly  and  efficiently, 
pay  their  shareholders  dividends  of  ten  to  twenty 
per  cent  per  annum.  And  here  is  one  plantation 
which  never  yet  has  paid  a  dividend,  and  that 
plantation  one  of  the  best  in  the  lot.  Yet  it  has 
always  paid  its  officers  liberally,  even  during  the 
first  four  years  when  no  returns  were  coming  in. 
Its  expenses  for  supplies,  are  greater  proportionally 
than  those  of  any  other  plantation.  Of  course,  no 
one  is  getting  a  rake-off." 

Sherrill  laughed  a  little  at  Crane's  indignation. 

"Well,  Mr.  Crane,"  he  said,  "it's  true  I  bought 
a  little  stock  in  the  X  plantation,  when  first  I 
came  to  these  islands,  nine  years  ago.  I  'took  a 
flyer,'  as  they  say,  and  I  still  hold  that  stock.  The 
reason  I  never  sold  was  because  I  bought  above 
par,  and  it  has  been  below  par  ever  since.  But  I 
never  worried  myself  over  the  matter.   There  were 


14  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

two  reasons.  First,  the  government  pays  me  a 
salary  sufficient  for  my  needs.  Second,  I  have  a 
private  income.  The  money  means  very  little  to 
me.  And  I  calculated  that  the  plantation  cannot 
go  on  expanding  forever.  The  island  has  its 
limitations.  When  they  have  bought  up  all  the 
land  available,  and  have  covered  it  with  cane, 
their  revenues  will  be  so  enormous  that  they  simply 
must  declare  a  dividend." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  lieutenant !  Why,  they  have 
practically  reached  the  limit  now,  and  they  are 
spending  the  revenue  in  purchasing  and  installing 
a  new  equipment  for  their  irrigation-system." 

"You  think  they'll  always  find  a  place  to  put 
the  money?" 

"Even  if  they  have  to  carry  the  office-cat  on 
the  pay-roll,  as  T.  Feline  at  two  thousand  dollars 
a  year. 

"You  say,  lieutenant,  that  the  money  means 
very  little  to  you.  But  on  the  mainland  there  are 
two  hundred  Americans,  most  of  them  with  wives 
and  families  dependent  upon  them,  to  whom  the 
money  means  a  great  deal.  When  two  hundred 
hard-working  men  have  put  their  money  into  an 
enterprise;  when  they  have  furnished  the  capital 
which  made  it  possible  to  carry  on  that  enterprise, 
don't  you  think  they  deserve  something  more  in 
return  than  a  chance  to  sell  out  for  half  what 
they  gave?" 

The  lieutenant  began  to  sit  up  and  take  notice. 
"I  guess  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself,  Mr. 
Crane,"  he  said.  "I  might  have  brought  some 
influence  to  bear  on  those  officers.     I  am  afraid 


PREDATORY  WEALTH  15 

I  played  a  lazy  part.  But  what  do  you  propose 
to  do?" 

Crane  grew  diplomatic. 

"I'll  say  this  much,"  he  answered,  "we  will  no 
longer  submit  to  the  present  condition  of  affairs. 
We  have  determined  on  revolt.  Revolt's  the  word." 

"Revolt!  And  just  what  does  that  mean  in 
this  case?" 

Crane  hesitated. 

"What  will  be  your  first  step?"  the  lieutenant 
went  on.  "Will  you  hold  a  conference  with  them, 
and  make  a  special  appeal?" 

"It  would  do  no  good.  They're  hardened  to 
special  appeals." 

"Then  you'll  bring  the  law  to  bear  on  them?" 

"No  use.  The  law  cannot  touch  them.  Every- 
thing they've  done,  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  strictly 
legal.  We  had  them  in  court  three  months  ago, 
and  could  accomplish  nothing." 

"Then  what  will  you  do?  I  believe  you  have 
a  definite  program  in  mind." 

"Fight  fire  with  fire.  But  I  don't  want  to 
draw  you  into  this  too  far,  lieutenant.  However, 
mine's  not  a  program  of  revenge  or  malice.  It's 
a  program  of  reformation." 

The  lieutenant  was  nearly  nettled  out  of  all 
patience  by  the  vagueness  of  Crane's  answers.  But 
he  restrained  himself,  and  tried  one  more  question. 

"But  how  reform  men  who  possess  iron-clad 
consciences,  and  are  well  fortified  by  the  law?" 

"By  playing  upon  their  fears.  I  believe  I  can 
make  it,  for  there's  another  factor  in  this  case, 
a  factor  I  haven't  mentioned;  and  that's  a  band 


16  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

of  Japanese  from  the  X  plantation.  We're  already 
in  communication  with  them.  Here  is  the  situation. 
The  Japanese  are  out  on  strike.  They're  a  reckless 
set,  ready  for  any  enterprise.  Now,  if  they're  left 
to  themselves,  there's  sure  to  be  trouble — in  fact, 
there  may  be  bloodshed,  which  would  do  no  good, 
and  a  great  deal  of  harm.  But  I  propose  to  join 
forces  with  them  and  direct  their  zeal  along  a 
better  line." 

"How?" 

"I  can't  explain  until  we  have  something  definite 
arranged.  But,  speaking  indefinitely,  we'll  play 
a  game  of  bluff  and  *beard  the  lion  in  his  den.' 
We'll  come  in  a  body  and  have  a  personal  interview 
with  the  manager  and  officers  of  the  X  Sugar 
Company,  but  we'll  arrange  the  interview  so  that 
we  are  masters  of  the  situation.  They'll  change 
their  tone  when  they  see  themselves  surrounded 
by  a  set  of  husky  Japanese — if  we  arrange  it  so 
there's  no  chance  for  interference." 

"Change  their  tone,  or  telephone  for  the  police." 

"That's  the  very  point.  It's  up  to  us  to  arrange 
a  program  which  won't  permit  them  to  send  for 
the  police." 

"Don't  get  too  strenuous,"  the  officer  cautioned. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  lieutenant.  We'll  not  get 
desperate.  Remember,  this  is  a  program  of 
reformation.  There'll  be  no  damage  done,  except 
perhaps  to  put  somebody  over  a  barrel.  I  mean  to 
take  time  enough  in  working  out  the  details,  so 
that  the  whole  affair  will  amount  to  no  more 
than  a  huge  practical  joke.  But  it  will  bring  the 
results  we  want." 


PREDATORY  WEALTH  17 


'And  those  results  are- 


"To  give  the  stockholders  their  dividends, 
reinstate  the  Japanese  on  the  plantation,  and 
reform  the  guilty  parties.  It  sounds  ambitious, 
but  I  believe  I  can  make  it." 

"I  see.  Your  plan  is  to  frighten  them  with  a 
pretense  of  coercion.  I  guess,  from  what  I  know 
of  the  men,  it  won't  take  much  of  that  sort  of 
ihing  to  bring  them  to  time.  A  little  physical 
suasion  would  be  no  more  than  they  deserve." 

"And  there's  nothing  morally  wrong  in  reforming 
a  set  of  malefactors." 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Crane.  If  you  want  my  candid 
opinion,  hanging  would  be  too  good  for  the 
manager  and  officers  of  the  X  Sugar  Company. 
You  can  reform  them  all  you  want  to,  so  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  and  you  can  expect  my  unqualified 
endorsement.  I  imagine  I  can  see  some  fun 
coming,"  and  the  lieutenant's  eyes  twinkled  as  he 
began  to  grasp  the  situation.  "They'll  get  no 
sympathy  from  me." 

"Thank  you,  lieutenant.  That  was  just  the 
attitude  I  expected  you  to  take,  from  what  I've 
been  told.  Of  course,  I  can't  expect  you  to  go 
very  far.  But  I'm  a  stranger  in  Hawaii,  and  I 
shall  need  a  lot  of  advice.  Just  let  me  draw  on 
you  for  advice  and  information.  If  I  can  get 
your  help  in  making  my  plans,  it  will  be  all  I 
shall  need  or  expect.  When  it  comes  to  carrying 
out  the  plan,  that  will  be  up  to  me." 

"But  you  haven't  decided  yet  on  the  details  of 
your  program." 

"Not  yet.   On  board  the  steamer  I  made  a  dozen 


18  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

plans,  but  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  as  to 
whether  I  can  carry  out  a  single  one  of  them.  I 
know  the  whole  affair  sounds  ridiculously  simple. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it's  exceedingly  complex." 
'  "It's  easy  to  talk  of  bearding  the  lion  in  his 
den, — but  not  so  easy  to  do  it." 

"Precisely.  Not  until  I've  studied  local  conditions 
thoroughly,  shall  I  feel  safe  in  handling  the 
situation.  At  present  I  must  meet  the  men  I'm 
after,  and  I  must  learn  the  country." 

"And  the  first  thing  you  mean  to  do " 

"Is  to  explore  the  island  from  end  to  end,  from 
center  to  circumference.  Oh,  it's  necessary — many 
reasons.  I  mean  to  cruise  around  it,  to  climb  its 
hills,  to  investigate  its  valleys,  to  learn  its  roads, 
until  I  know  the  country  as  well  as  I  know  the 
pockets  in  my  own  coat.  Nor  need  that  take 
much  time,  in  an  island  only  thirty-five  miles  long. 
Two  weeks  should  be  ample."  and  he  half  drew 
a  folding-map  from  his  breast-pocket. 

"More  interested  in  making  a  study  of  local 
conditions,  perhaps,  than  in  'bearding  the  lion'," 
the  lieutenant  thought.  But  Crane  was  no  mind- 
reader. 

"Now  the  first  thing  I  want  to  do,  and  need 
to  do,"  he  continued,  "is  to  circumnavigate  the 
island,  to  get  a  general  notion  of  the  country.  For 
such  a  trip  it  seems  to  me  a  motor-boat  would  be 
most  suitable.  Can  you  advise  me  as  to  where 
I  can  get  a  boat,  and  how  I  can  best  avoid  publicity 
in  so  doing?"  and  as  Crane  thought  of  the  work 
before  him,  he  started  from  his  chair  and  tramped 
up    and   down    the   verandah,    rubbing   his   hands 


PREDATORY  WEALTH  19 

together.  The  lieutenant  watched  him  with  a 
smile. 

"If  you  care  to  accompany  me  in  my  own  boat, 
the  Firefly,  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  you  around 
the  island  myself.  You  see,  I  am  on  the  staff 
of  the  army,  not  the  line.  I  am  not  tied  down 
to  barrack  duty.  In  fact,  my  duties  call  me 
around  the  island  on  tours  of  inspection.  I  had 
planned  one  for  to-morrow." 

"Delighted,"  and  Crane's  expression  cleared.  "If 
I  get  past  every  snag  as  easily  as  that,  I  shall 
have  smooth  sailing." 

"But  wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Crane,"  said  the  other. 
"I  think  I  see  one  snag.  Or,  at  least,  I  want  to 
put  you  on  your  guard  against  it.  Look  out  for 
leaks!" 

"Meaning,  lieutenant, " 

"That  there  are  two  hundred  stockholders 
behind  you, — and  if  all  of  them  know  the  nature 
of  your  business  in  the  Islands,  someone  will  be 
^sure  to  give  it  away  to  the  officers  of  the  X 
plantation,  in  hope  of  a  cheap  reward." 

"I've  thought  of  that  already.  In  fact,  no  one 
outside  of  a  very  select  committee,  knows  my 
business." 

"Good  enough!  And  on  board  the  "Nevada," 
did  nobody  ask  your  business,  or  seem  unduly 
interested  in  your  affairs?" 

"Why,  only  in  a  very  general  way.  That  is — 
now  I  think  of  it — there  was  one  who  kept  edging 
in,  but  he  made  such  a  poor  impression  that  his 
efforts  were  worse  than  useless.    A  young  cub  by 


20  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  name  of  Carding,  it  was.  He's  just  out  of 
college,  returning  to  his  home  in  the  Islands." 

"I  guess  he  hardly  counts,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
And  then  he  added.  "The  stockholders  seem  to  have 
a  most  zealous  representative  in  you,  Mr.  Crane. 
You  haven't  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  chained  to 
his   oar." 

"Please  don't  give  me  too  much  credit.  Some 
stock  was  sold  on  the  mainland,  and  I  own  enough 
to  make  it  quite  worth  my  while  to  carry  this 
matter  through." 

3o  one  topic  led  to  another.  The  sun  had  set, 
and  the  short  tropical  twilight  had  faded  before 
the  discussion  was  concluded.  They  walked 
together  to  the  hotel  where  Crane  intended 
to  lodge. 

It  was  an  immense  concrete  structure,  its  front 
extending  the  full  length  of  the  block, — the  city's 
"newest  and  most  luxuriously  appointed  fire-proof 
hotel,  a  hotel  designed  to  appeal  to  the  conserva- 
tive." Looking  as  if  it  had  been  transplanted 
bodily  from  a  mainland  metropolis,  it  seemed 
altogether  inappropriate  in  a  tropical  island. 

Crane  would  have  invited  the  officer  to  dinner, 
had  not  the  latter  suggested, 

"I  guess  we  had  better  be  seen  together  in  the 
city  as  little  as  possible.  If  we  avoid  each  other 
in  public,  I  think  I  can  serve  you  best.  Good 
night,  Mr.  Crane.  You  know  the  way  to  the 
wharf.  I'll  see  you  there  at  six  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning." 

They  parted  with  a  cordial  grip,  and  Crane 
went  in  for  dinner. 


PREDATORY  WEALTH  21 

After  the  meal  he  entered  the  lobby.  With  its 
palms  and  paintings,  panelled  walls  and  mosaic 
pavement,  the  room  resembled  in  its  main  features 
the  lobby  of  a  mainland  hotel.  But  it  was  full  of 
suggestions  and  flavors  of  the  tropics.  Baskets 
of  tropical  blossoms  stood  in  the  corners.  On 
the  walls  were  gorgeously  colored  photographs  and 
paintings  of  Hawaiian  scenery.  Announcements 
of  excursions  to  a  score  of  places  with  appallingly 
unpronounceable  native  names,  were  tacked  to  a 
bulletin-board.  In  one  comer  of  the  room  a  very 
dark  but  very  neat  Hawaiian  woman  presided 
over  a  curio-stand,  where  the  glass  top  of  the 
show-case  was  covered  with  tiny  banjo-fiddles, 
while  faces  carved  from  cocoanuts,  and  specimens 
of  lava  from  Hawaiian  volcanoes,  were  displayed 
within  the  case.  Feather  hat-bands  in  peacock 
blue  and  scarlet,  hung  from  a  line.  The  exotic 
tone  of  everything  appealed  to  Crane*s  imagination. 

He  meditatively  seated  himself  in  a  deep  leather 
chair  that  stood  opposite  a  tinted  photograph — 
a  tall  panel  showing  a  long,  diminishing  perspective 
of  palm  trees  waving  in  the  trade-wind.  Perhaps 
the  picture  influenced  his  meditations.  He  leaned 
back,  half  closing  his  eyes,  while  he  dreamed  of 
what  lay  before  him  as  he  should  explore  the 
country.  Some  of  the  pictures  which  his  mind 
framed  were  very  attractive. 

Tn  imagination  he  was  cruising  along  the  coast 
of  a  gorgeous  tropical  island,  voyaging  over 
sapphire  seas,  amid  shoals  of  flying-fish.  The 
wooded  slopes  of  the  hills  rose,  a  riot  of  color,  to 
where   waterfalls   played   in   the   glens — waterfalls 


22  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

fed  by  downpours  from  mists  that  capped  the 
highest  crests.  He  could  hear  the  wind  in  the 
palms,  the  surf  on  the  shore;  he  could  see  the 
spray  rising  in  clouds  from  the  coral  reef.  And 
he  saw  himself  exploring  the  tangled  cane-fields, 
where  square  miles  of  sugar-cane  covered  plain 
and  plateau;  or  searching  deep  ravines  which  led 
to  the  heart  of  the  hills ;  or  spinning  in  a  motor-car 
over  long  white  roads  that  ran  beneath  the  shadow 
of  stupendous  cliffs.  Then  he  thought  of  the 
clustered  flowers;  the  cocoa-palms;  the  thatched 
homes  of  the  natives. 

Was  he  "more  interested  in  making  a  study  of 
local  conditions  than  in  bearding  the  lion?" 

But  his  mind  went  on  to  dwell  on  the  business 
which  had  brought  him  to  the  Islands.  He  thought 
of  the  planning  and  plotting  it  would  involve,  the 
handling  of  delicate  situations,  until  he  should 
"reform"  the  "malefactors  of  great  wealth" 
whom  he  was  seeking.  In  what  might  he  not 
be  involved?  It's  true  his  program  would  begin 
with  the  exploration  of  a  fascinating  tropical  island. 
But  how  would  it  end? 

"Whatever  the  outcome  of  this  business,  I'll 
surely  have  an  interesting  experience,' — perhaps  a 
strenuous  one,"  he  decided,  and  he  retired  for 
the  night. 


Ill 

YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS 

AT  six-fifteen  the  following  morning  Crane 
and  Sherrill  walked  together  down  the  wharf. 
The  men  showed  in  striking  contrast;  the 
lieutenant — more  than  six  feet  high,  long-limbed, 
broad-shouldered,  with  heavy  red  mustache; 
Kenneth  Crane,  of  moderate  height  and  build, 
smooth  shaven  and  almost  boyish  in  appearance. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  two  were  of  about 
the  same  age,  the  Californian  might  have  passed 
as  ten  years  the  younger.  He  was  "eager- 
hearted  as  a  boy."  With  a  marine  glass  in  his 
hand  and  a  map  in  his  pocket,  he  was  on  tip-toe 
for  the  voyage  of  circumnavigation. 

The  morning  was  magnificent.  The  trade-wind 
clouds  had  cleared  away  during  the  night.  Long 
before  noon  they  would  be  building  their  white 
pyramids  above  the  higher  hills.  But  at  that  hour 
the  sky  was  flawless. 

"A  glorious  day  for  our  cruise,"  Crane 
commented,  as  they  stood  on  the  landing-stage 
and  watched  the  Firefly  approaching  across  the 
harbor.  The  long  triangular  shadows  of  volcanic 
peaks  were  streaking  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
water,  so  that  the  white  sides  of  the  launch  were 
flashing  from  sun  to.  shade  and  from  shade  to 
sunshine.  Far  beyond  it  they  could  catch  a  glimpse 
of  breakers  on  the  reef.     Their  low  rumble  came 


24  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

on  the  quiet  morning  air.  And  then,  with  a  whirl 
and  a  swirl  and  a  churning  of  water,  the  motor- 
boat  swung  to  the  landing-steps. 

The  Firefly  was  nearly  thirty  feet  long.  The 
after  half  of  the  boat  was  open.  Within  that  open 
space  there  ran  a  semi-circle  of  cushioned  seats 
upholstered  in  leather.  Crane  and  Sherrill  took 
their  places  on  the  bench.  The  mechanic  started 
the  engine.    The  cruise  was  begun. 

They  shot  across  the  satin  surface  of  the  little 
harbor,  broken  behind  them  by  the  Firefly's  waves, 
which  dashed  against  the  concrete  piers,  and  in 
a  minute  more  they  slipped  between  the  break- 
waters and  felt  the  long,  slow  lift  of  the  Pacific 
swell.  Steering  almost  due  west,  they  shaped  a 
course  for  Pearl  Harbor. 

In  twenty  minutes  the  Firefly  was  five  miles 
from  Honolulu.  The  steady  rush  of  the  boat  over 
the  water  and  the  put-put  of  the  muffled  motor 
were  the  only  sounds;  the  only  motion  was  their 
rhythmic  swing  over  the  sea.  Crane  lay  back  on 
the  deep  leather  cushions,  his  head  supported  on 
another  cushion  which  was  propped  up  at  an  angle. 
It  was  a  pleasure  to  study  "the  lay  of  the  land'* 
under  conditions  like  these. 

He  let  his  gaze  linger  on  the  distant  mountains. 
Their  long  slopes  climbed  to  a  height  of  more 
than  half  a  mile.  Crane  made  a  guess  that  those 
slopes  had  once  been  uniform  and  smooth,  and  that 
the  deep  valleys  which  now  trenched  them  had 
been  carved  out  in  the  progress  of  ages.  He  saw 
that  behind  Honolulu  and  its  environs  lay  the 
deepest  valleys,  and  at  their  heads  he  saw  three 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  25 

great  depressions  notching  the  skyline  of  the  hills. 
The  most  southerly  of  those  great  gashes  was  the 
deepest,  falling  nearly  two  thousand  feet  below 
the  summits  of  the  peaks.  Its  profound  valley 
lay  directly  behind  the  harbor.  It  suggested  a 
mountain-pass.    He  said  as  much  to  Sherrill. 

"Yes,  that  valley  is  the  pass  through  the 
mountains,"  Sherrill  explained.  "A  carriage-road 
runs  to  its  head.  But  from  here  you  can  form  no 
idea  of  the  opposite  side  of  the  range.  One  would 
imagine  that  similar  slopes  and  valleys  descend  to 
the  opposite  shore.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
mountains  break  off  in  gigantic  cliffs,  dropping 
sheerly  from  the  summits  of  the  peaks  to  a  plain 
that  is  only  a  few  fathoms  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  At  the  head  of  the  valley  one  seems  to  stand 
on  the  brink  of  a  tremendous  precipice.  But  the 
road  has  been  carried  down  to  the  plain.  It  has 
been  carved  in  the  cliff  and  carried  down  a  spur." 

They  turned  their  eyes  northward  to  where  a 
long  plateau  swung  its  broad  curve  between  the 
eastern  mountains  and  the  western.  From  where 
they  were  they  could  grasp  general  effects  more 
easily  than  they  could  on  land.  Now  they 
could  see  that  the  island  consisted  of  two  mountain- 
ranges — to  call  small  things  by  big  names — 
connected  by  a  plateau,  and  bordered  in  most 
places  by  a  low  plain.  As  the  island  took  definite 
shape  and  form  before  their  eyes,  it  suggested  a 
gigantic  dumb-bell,  with  an  incredibly  thick  bar, 
and  with  one  end  nearly  twice  the  size  of  the  other. 

And  now  the  Firefly  was  approaching  Pearl 
Harbor.     As  they  went,  they  watched  the  flying 


26  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

fish  that  flashed  across  the  water,  the  sunlight 
glittering  on  their  sides  and  wings.  They  saw 
bonitas  leaping  from  the  dark  blue  waves  that 
rolled  their  crests  of  white  to  where  the  reef 
upraised  its  coral.  The  sandy  shore,  the  bathers 
on  the  beach,  the  distant  slopes,  slow  rising,  where 
there  grew  great  fields  of  cane, — all  these  they 
saw.  And  from  those  far-off  fields  white  wreaths 
of  smoke  were  rolling,  where  the  fires  played 
through  the  canes,  consuming  but  the  leaves,  nor 
harming  the  great  stems  which  soon  should  pass 
beneath  the  rollers  of  the  mills  that  crunch  and 
crush  and  grind  till  all  the  sugary  sap  is  drawn 
into  the  steaming  coppers. 

"A  poetical  scene,"  said  Crane.  "The  day  and 
the  view  both  make  me  feel  like  writing  poetry," 
and  he  half  drew  a  note-book  from  his  pocket. 
"But  I'm  afraid  there's  not  much  use  in  my  trying." 

They  finished  their  run  across  the  open  sea, 
rounded  the  buoy,  black  striped  with  white,  which 
marked  the  entrance  to  Pearl  Harbor  channel,  and 
turned  into  the  long  passage  leading  through  the 
reef.  The  lieutenant  himself  took  the  wheel  to 
steer  the  Firefly  between  the  coral  ledges. 

"If  this  boat  is  to  pile  up  on  the  reef,  I  want 
it  to  be  my  own  fault,"  he  said  in  explanation. 

Pearl  Harbor  has  a  long,  narrow  entrance.  In 
that  entrance  a  still  narrower  channel  has  been 
dredged,  deep  enough  to  float  a  battle-ship.  Inside 
the  harbor  expanded  broadly.  On  a  peninsula 
there  stood  a  little  community  known  by  the 
ambitious  name  of  Pearl  City. 

This  was  the  place  first  identified  on  his   map 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  27 

by  Crane,  for  now  he  must  get  down  to  business. 
He  sat  map  in  hand  while  the  Firefly  buzzed  up 
and  down  the  inlets  of  Pearl  Harbor.  He  reveled 
in  the  experience.  The  out-door  scenes,  the 
constantly  changing  pictures,  were  like  rare  wine  to 
him.  The  graceful  inlets,  with  the  rank  luxuriance 
of  cane-fields  rising  from  the  water's  edge,  the 
long  leaves  trailing  in  the  tide,  the  sound  of  the 
little  waves  rustling  against  the  canes  as  the 
Firefly  rushed  past,  all  combined  to  thrill  him  like 
the  uplift  of  great  music. 

Travel  in  Hawaii  seemed  like  a  dream  of  heaven ! 
Here  was  the  crystal  sea,  the  sapphire  sky;  the 
palm  branches  of  the  New  Jerusalem  were  waving 
by  the  shore!  The  choruses  of  cherubim  and 
seraphim  seemed  to  be  the  only  details  lacking. 
Well,  he  was  satisfied  as  it  was. 

Undoubtedly,  with  a  boat  like  the  Firefly,  in  a 
smooth  sea,  they  could  complete  their  whirl  around 
the  island  in  a  single  day.  But  his  hopes  were 
dashed  when  Sherrill's  business  compelled  a  long 
delay  at  a  naval  station.  He  fussed  and  fidgetted, 
as  he  sat  beneath  the  awning  of  the  launch,  or 
rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  wharf  as  far 
as  the  sentry  would  permit  him  to  go.  He  began 
to  doubt  whether  they  would  be  able  to  complete 
the  trip  according  to  his  schedule, — and  his  doubts 
were  confirmed  when  the  officer  arrived. 

"This  trip  may  take  me  two  or  three  days," 
Sherrill  explained. 

Crane  looked  blank  at  this,  for  he  had  started 
with  "his  hands  in  his  pockets"  both  figuratively 
and  literally.   Why  hadn't  Sherrill  spoken  sooner?" 


28  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"I  hardly  came  prepared  for  a  trip  of  that  sort," 
he  said. 

"Oh,  don't  let  that  trouble  you.  We'll  chum 
together.  I'll  help  you  out  with  whatever  you 
need." 

Crane  wondered  whether  they  were  to  spend 
the  night  on  board  the  Firefly,  and  he  studied  the 
narrow  bench  as  a  prospective  sleeping-place,  but' 
didn't  wish  to  pester  Sherrill  with  inopportune 
questions  just  then,  for  they  were  on  their  way 
now,  with  the  lieutenant  at  the  wheel,  keeping  the 
boat  in  the  middle  of  a  narrow  channel.  It  was 
one  o'clock  before  they  glided  out  of  the  harbor, 
into  the  open  sea  once  more.  Crane  became 
conscious  of  an  "aching  void." 

"I  guess  we  forgot  something,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Lunch." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  and  at  the  lieutenant's 
command,  the  mechanic  produced  a  large  basket 
and  a  folding  table.  The  latter  was  set  up  and 
the  contents  of  the  basket  arranged  upon  it.  With 
the  engine  slowed  down  for  greater  comfort,  they 
enjoyed  their  mid-day  meal.  Now  was  an  oppor- 
tune time  is  discuss  the  details  of  the  trip. 

"When  I  started,"  Crane  explained,  "I  had  in 
mind  a  twelve  hours'  dash  around  the  shore  of 
the  island.  Otherwise  I  should  have  packed  a 
suit-case.  I  suppose  we'll  spend  the  night  on 
board  the  boat." 

"We  might;  but  I  usually  put  in  somewhere, 
and  spend  the  night  at  a  hotel.  There  is  a  tourist 
hotel  on  the  north  shore,   and  two  more  on  the 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  29 

east  side.  Or,  if  it  suits  me  better,  I  can  put  up 
at  a  sugar-plantation.  There  are  plantations  all 
around  the  island,  and  I  am  acquainted  at  all  of 
them.  It  would  suit  you  to  see  something  of 
plantation  life,  wouldn't  it?" 

"The  more  I  see  of  island-life,  the  better." 

"Oh,  I  believe  I  shall  be  able  to  do  much  more 
for  you,  this  trip,  than  give  you  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  the  shore — or  a  shark's-eye  view.  We  shall  put 
in  at  one  or  two  of  the  hotels,  and  possibly  at  a 
plantation.  You'll  see  something  of  tourist  life, 
and  something  of  plantation  life.  At  the  end  of 
the  trip,  you'll  feel  quite  at  home  in  the  island." 
The  lieutenant's  tone  was  decisive. 

It  sounded  good  to  Crane.  The  trip,  as  he  had 
imagined  it,  would  have  amounted  to  no  more 
than  a  shark's-eye  view  of  the  shore.  It  was 
expanding  into  something  better. 

As  the  Firefly  buzzed  over  the  brine,  they  looked 
up  at  steep  rocky  ridges  which  ran  down  to  the 
sea.  Between  those  walls  of  black  volcanic  rock 
were  narrow  valleys,  and  at  the  heads  of  the 
valleys  the  mountains  rose  to  heights  of  three  and 
four  thousand  feet,  for  the  leeward  range  was 
loftier  than  the  windward.  The  scene  was  one  of 
dryness  and  desolation. 

"Very  few  showers  travel  across  the  island  to 
this  coast,"  the  lieutenant  explained. 

In  the  lower  end  of  a  valley  they  could  see  the 
irrigated  fields  of  a  sugar-plantation.  But  only  in 
the  higher  hills  were  there  any  signs  of  a  native 
tropical  growth. 

They   knew   that   the   breeze   must   be   blowing 


30  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

briskly  on  the  island's  windward  shore.  But  very 
little  of  the  wind  reached  the  sea  on  which  they 
floated.  The  sky  was  very  clear.  Only  a  far-away 
fluff  of  clouds  showed  on  the  horizon.  The  water 
lay  flat  and  oily,  broken  only  by  the  deep  breathing 
of  the  ocean.  Three  miles  to  the  west  went  a 
sailing-vessel,  a  tall  bark  deep  laden  with  a  cargo 
,of  sugar,  lazily  swinging  over  the  swells,  as  it 
steered  northward  on  its  way  to  California.  Its 
sails  showed  dark  against  the  bright  afternoon  sky. 

Again  Crane  lay  back  on  the  deep  leather 
cushions.  He  luxuriated  in  the  warmth  and 
brightness,  in  the  color  and  contrast,  all  about 
him.  He  saw  the  gracious  tropical  pictures  with 
the  sunshine  glowing  on  the  colors.  He  felt  the 
soft  breath  of  the  trade-wind  which  seemed  like  a 
caress.  He  was  as  happy  as  youth  and  health 
and  the  rapid  whirl  of  the  boat  across  the  tropical 
water,  could  make  him. 

"Yachting  in  the  tropics!"  he  said.  "I've  read 
of  it;  I've  dreamed  of  it,  and  somehow  this  seems 
to  fit  my  notions  of  what  it  should  be.  No  wonder 
there  are  two  yacht-clubs  in  Honolulu." 

The  mountains  in  whose  lee  they  were,  had 
grown  steadily  higher  until  they  culminated  in  a 
great  flat-topped  peak,  rising  four  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea. 

As  the  boat  rounded  the  north-west  angle  of  the 
island,  their  eyes  could  sweep  the  full  extent  of  the 
northern  shore.  Long  slopes  could  be  seen, 
sweeping  down  toward  the  ocean,  to  break  off 
abruptly  in  a  massive  sea-cliff.  But,  between  the 
sea-cliff  and  the  beach,  there  intervened  a  strip  of 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  31 

coastal  plain,  perhaps  a  mile  in  width,  most  of  it 
planted  with  the  brilliant  green  of  cane-fields. 

There  was  plenty  of  wind  now,  and  the  Firefly 
plunged  in  the  choppy  waves,  scattering  the  spray 
in  sheets.  Muffled  in  rubber  coats,  the  men 
crouched  in  the  cockpit.  As  the  sun  went  down 
on  the  wind-lashed  waves  and  the  roaring  reef, 
they  turned  toward  the  shore. 

"We'll  stop  at  the  hotel,"  said  Sherrill,  and  he 
directed  Crane's  attention  to  a  structure  with  a 
broad  white  front  and  pillared  portico,  which  had 
come  into  sight.  The  Firefly,  steered  by  the 
lieutenant,  found  an  opening  in  the  reef,  and 
running  at  reduced  speed,  drifted  across  the 
shallow  water  of  a  little  inlet  leading  almost  to 
the  door.  Landing  on  a  lawn  which  started  from 
the  water's  edge,  they  walked  across  to  the 
entrance. 

Crane  eyed  the  place  with  the  frank  curiosity 
of  a  man  who  was  "learning  the  island."  He  saw 
that  the  hotel  was  a  frame  building,  very  much  in 
the  American  style,  except  that  the  dining-room 
was  on  the  broad  verandah,  or  "lanai"  as  the 
Hawaiians  call  it.  The  guests  were  taking  their 
places  for  dinner.  Crane  and  Sherrill  were 
assigned  a  table. 

The  dinner  did  credit  to  the  management  of  the 
place.  Everything  was  well  served.  There  was 
plenty  of  tropical  fruit.  The  tables  were  decorated 
with  tropical  flowers.  The  lights  with  their  tinted 
shades,  sparkling  on  white  damask  table-cloths  and 
shining  silver,  lent  an  atmosphere  of  richness  and 


32  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

good  taste.  Crane  began  to  realize  what  the  term 
"a  first-class  tourist  hotel"  meant. 

From  the  verandah  a  central  hall  ran  through 
the  building.  At  the  end  opposite  to  the  dining- 
room  there  was  a  large  parlor,  and  there  the  guests 
gathered  after  dinner.  Some  rested  in  deep  wicker 
rocking-chairs.  Others  gathered  around  a  whist- 
table.  But  their  comfort  was  interrupted.  Hawaiian 
mosquitoes ! 

The  hotel  had  been  built  on  the  very  edge  of 
a  sugar-plantation.  In  fact,  there  was  a  field  of 
cane  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  which  ran 
directly  behind  it, — and  a  cane-field  is  a  marvelous 
breeding-ground  for  mosquitoes.  The  net-work  of 
irrigation  ditches,  with  their  pools  of  stagnant 
water,  afforded  every  facility.  Consequently,  as 
darkness  came  on,  hordes  of  mosquitoes  came 
buzzing  across  the  highway  and  into  the  hotel; 
for  the  Hawaiian  mosquito  is  one  that  flies  by 
night.  He  sleeps  by  day.  At  night  he  is  wide 
awake  and  hungry. 

Myriads  of  mosquitoes  buzzed  above  the  guests. 
They  mingled  their  hum  with  the  whisper  of  the 
night  wind  as  it  rustled  the  leaves  of  the  sugar- 
cane a  hundred  yards  away,  or  crept  through  the 
fronds  of  date-palms  just  outside  the  door.  As  a 
protection  against  the  pests,  three  little  copper 
trays  had  been  set,  each  above  the  chimney  of  a 
kerosene  lamp.  The  lamps  stood  on  the  floor.  Each 
tray  was  loaded  with  a  powdery  compound,  the 
fumes  of  which  were  intended  to  drive  away  the 
insects. 

But  the  hotel  was  run  on  an  economical  plan, 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  33 

its  good  table  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  For 
parsimonious  reasons  the  powder  had  not  been 
ignited.  Presently  a  guest  touched  a  lighted  match 
to  one  of  the  trays.  The  two  others  were  ignited 
likewise.  The  fumes  diffused  themselves,  and  the 
mosquitoes  sailed  away. 

But  now  a  petulant  and  peevish  clerk  came 
bustling  into  the  parlor.  "Why  has  this  powder 
been  lighted?  That's  not  the  way  to  use  it.  It 
mustn't  burn.  It  must  only  cook  above  the  heat," 
and  he  emptied  the  trays,  replenishing  them  with 
fresh  compound. 

Once  more  the  mosquitoes  returned  to  the  attack. 
Clouds  swarmed  around  each  light,  many  of  them 
striking  the  hot  chimneys,  to  fall  kicking.  Those 
that  struck  the  lamps  above  the  card-table,  fell  on 
the  cards,  to  the  extreme  annoyance  of  the  players. 

But  presently  a  little  ash  from  the  lieutenant's 
cigar  found  its  way  into  one  of  the  trays.  In  some 
equally  mysterious  manner,  the  other  trays  were 
ignited.  The  powder  began  to  smolder.  A  slightly 
pungent  odor  diffused  itself  through  the  room. 
Once  more  the  mosquitoes  retreated,  and  the  guests 
sat  in  comfort. 

Sherrill  made  a  trip  to  the  desk  to  look  at  the 
register.  Presently  he  returned  with  the  information 
that  a  party  of  tourists  from  the  "Nevada",  were 
spending  the  .night  at  the  hotel. 

"Here  come  some  of  them,"  he  added. 

A  tall  girl,  all  in  white,  with  a  light  blue  ribbon 
around  her  blond  hair,  crossed  the  toom.  She 
was  accompanied  by  a  young  man.  A  middle-aged 
couple    followed.      Crane    recognized    the    party — 


34  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

professor  Burl,  his  wife  and  family.  The 
recognition  was   mutual. 

"Professor  Burl!" 

"Mr.  Crane!  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  I 
thought  you  were  in  Honolulu.  I  didn't  see  you 
on  the  train,  coming  out." 

"Oh,  I  got  here  by  motor-boat." 

Introductions  followed.  Sherrill  and  Miss  Burl 
gravitated  to  a  whist-table.  Crane  found  himself 
paired  off  in  conversation  with  the  professor.  He 
had  discovered  Burl  to  be  the  sort  that  is  a  little 
diffident  on  short  acquaintance.  He  began  to 
wonder  how  he  should  draw  him  out. 

As  Crane  rested  in  a  huge  wicker  chair,  a  cigar 
between  his  lips,  the  mosquitoes  put  to  rout,  the 
soft  breath  of  the  trade-wind  drifting  through  the 
room,  and  the  rustle  of  palm-branches  and  sugar- 
cane coming  in  through  the  windows  with  the 
sound  of  the  distant  wash  of  surf  on  the  reef,  he 
grew  reflective,  and  his  reflections  turned  naturally 
to  the  subject  of  sugar.  Ah!  a  timely  topic.  A 
recollection  of  the  business  which  had  brought 
him  to  the  islands,  inspired  his  opening  remark. 

"Professor  Burl,  can  you  explain,"  he  began 
rather  abruptly,  "why  it  is  that  sugar  has  such  a 
corrupting  tendency  in  its  effects  upon  the  human 
conscience?" 

"Has  it?"  countered  the  professor,  gasping  and 
sparring  for  time.  "I've  heard  charges  against 
alcohol  and  tobacco.  They  even  say  that  Standard 
Oil  is  demoralizing.  But  sugar?  Sugar  tends  to 
sweeten  mankind." 

Crane  chuckled. 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  35 

"I  guess  you  never  have  investigated  the  sugar 
industry,  and  its  effects  upon  big  business." 

"I  always  leave  such  investigations  to  legislative 
committees." 

"Well,  wasn't  sugar  at  the  foundation  of  the 
slave-trade?  Men  first  were  stolen  from  Africa, 
to  hoe  sugar-cane  in  the  West  Indies  and  Brazil. 
And  later  the  products  of  the  plantations  had  a 
most  demoralizing  effect  on  the  New  England 
conscience.  Wasn't  a  tendency  to  *sand  sugar'  one 
of  the  common  failings  of  the  New  England  store- 
keeper? 'Sanding  sugar  and  watering  rum,'  you 
know.  Yes,  and  they  short-weighted  the  sugar, 
too." 

'That  sounds  bad,"  Burl  admitted.  "They  must 
have  been  a  depraved  set;  first  mix  it  with  sand 
and  then  short-weight  it.  But  was  it  the  sugar 
tiiat  demoralized  the  store-keeper,  or  the  store- 
keeper who   demoralized  the  sugar?" 

"Can  a  man  demoralize  a  commodity?" 

"Well,  consider  rye  as  an  example.  When  it 
is  ground  to  flour  and  baked  as  bread,  it  has  an 
excellent  reputation.  But  when  it  is  diverted  from 
the  oven  to  the  still,  there  is  a  difference." 

"But  the  rye  itself  is  the  foundation  of  it  all," 
Crane  insisted.  "In  the  same  way,  sugar  was  the 
foundation  of  the  slave-trade,  for  that  trade  meant 
the  supplying  of  labor  to  the  great  sugar  estates 
of  Brazil  and  the  West  Indies.  And  remember 
what  an  effect  that  trade  had  on  those  who  engaged 
in  it!  It  became  a  question  whether  the  slaver  or 
the  pirate  was  the  more  undesirable  citizen.  Oh, 
sugar  is  a  demoralizer." 


36  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"But  is  it?     Your  argument  is  not  convincing." 

"I  have  shown  that  it  was." 

"Which  is  not  to  the  point.  We  have  left  all 
that  behind  us,  a  hundred  years  or  more.  The 
sugar  industry  had  a  wild  youth,  but  as  it  grew 
older,  it  grew  respectable." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Crane  answered.  "During 
the  nineteenth  century  there  was  plenty  of  'near- 
slavery*  in  connection  with  the  sugar  plantations 
of  Australia.  Did  you  never  hear  of  *blackbirding' 
in  the  South  Seas ;  stealing  natives  from  the  islands 
of  the  South  Pacific,  carrying  them  to  Australia, 
and  compelling  them  to  labor  on  the  sugar  estates?" 

"I  have  heard  of  that  very  thing,  and  I  also 
know  that  it,  too,  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  The 
sugar  industry  of  Australia  is  now  on  a  'pure 
white'  basis.  And,  by  the  way,  I  understand  that 
it  is  more  prosperous  now  than  ever  before.  Oh, 
the  world  is  getting  better  all  the  time,  Mr.  Crane.** 

"Perhaps  it  is.  But  even  to-day  there  are  many 
things  in  the  sugar  industry  which  would  hardly 
stand  the  spotlight.'* 

"As  for  instance?" 

"Well,  when  captains  of  industry  use  their 
privileges  as  majority  owners  of  the  stock,  to 
compel  the  plantations  to  buy  all  supplies  of  their 
agencies  so  that  they  may  absorb  thirty  per  cent 
more  of  the  profits  than  the  minority  stockholders 
receive.  That  is  an  illustration  of  how,  right  at 
the  present  day,  sugar  saps  the  morals  of  mankind.* 

"Oh,  yes!  It  was  the  sugar  that  did  it! 
Nevertheless,  my  contention  holds  that  conditions 
have  improved  wonderfully  in  the  sugar  industry. 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  37 

No  more  *blackbirding*,  sugar  cultivated  by  free 
labor,  labor  free  to  come  or  go  as  it  pleases." 

"Yes,  nominally  the  labor  is  free,  but  there's  a 
difference  between  law  and  practice.  I  might  cite 
an  incident  of  which  I  know;  one  which  happened 
in  this  island,  not  three  weeks  ago,  when  fifty 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  laborers  who  had  bought 
their  tickets  for  the  mainland,  were  prevented  by 
chicanery  from  sailing,  and  were  juggled  into 
signing  a  contract — a  contract  which  has  bound 
them  to  remain  ten  years  longer  in  Hawaii." 

"But  were  those  men  compelled  to  remain  here? 
Might  they  not  have  taken  passage  in  some  other 
boat?" 

"They  could,  provided  their  funds  held  out.  It's 
true  that  no  one  is  forcibly  prevented  from  leaving 
the  island.  He  may  go,  if  he  insists  on  going;  but 
there  are  many  ways  to  hinder  him." 

"And  yet  that  very  incident  is  a  splendid  proof 
that  conditions  are  improving,"  argued  Burl.  "In 
the  eighteenth  century  there  was  black  slavery 
with  the  horrors  of  the  'middle  passage.'  In  the 
nineteenth  century  there  was  *blackbirding,'  with 
its  attendant  brutality  and  misery.  In  the  twentieth 
century  we  raise  our  hands  in  holy  horror  and 
exclaim  in  virtuous  resentment  if  a  few  Portuguese 
laborers  are  juggled  out  of  an  opportunity  to  use 
their  steamer-tickets." 

"Very  true,"  Crane  admitted.  "And  yet  I  still 
hold  that  there  is  an  underlying  something  in 
sugar  itself  which  casts  an  evil  spell  over  the  hearts 
and  minds  of  mankind.  What  is  this  we  hear  of 
the  methods  of  the  central  sugar  business  on  the 


38  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

mainland,  the  methods  of  the  trust?  Don't  they 
manipulate  prices  down  while  crops  are  being 
bought  from  the  planters,  and  up  after  the  crops 
have  been  delivered?" 

"I  admit  it.  And  I  have  even  heard  of  false 
weighing  to  defraud  the  customs,  and  of  the 
tapping  of  water  mains  near  refineries  without 
letting  the  water  companies  know  of  it.  Shocking, 
isn't  it?" 

"It  ought  to  be  so  considered.  I  can  think  of 
another  instance.  Even  the  honest  Vermont  farmer, 
with  his  maple-sugar,  has  been  known  to  fall  under 
the  evil  spell,  and  to  substitute  cheap  brown  sugar 
until  his  product  is  certainly  sixty-five  per  cent 
fraudulent  and  the  rest  under  suspicion." 

"And  the  by-products  of  sugar,"  answered  Burl; 
"they  have  an  evil  reputation;  Jamaica  and  Santa 
Cruz  rum,  distilled  from  the  molasses." 

"I  see  we're  beginning  to  stand  on  the  same 
ground,"  replied  Crane.  "We  are  reaching  the 
same  conclusion." 

"Are  we?" 

"Aren't  we?  As  soon  as  I  bring  a  charge  against 
sugar,  you  cap  that  charge  with  another.  Our 
discussion  has  not  been  a  long  one,  and  just 
consider  what  a  list  of  evils  we  already  have  laid 
at  the  door  of  sugar, — rum,  robbery,  fraud,  man- 
stealing  and  a  frightful  undermining  of  the  New 
England  conscience.  Why,  when  we  catalogue  all 
of  its  bad  influences,  it  appears  that  the  pure,  snowy 
sugar,  which  you,  professor,  believed  to  exist  only 
to  sweeten  mankind,  is  Satan  himself  in  disguise." 

Burl  leaned  back  a  little  farther  in  his  chair  and 


YACHTING  IN  THE  TROPICS  39 

laughed.  Then  he  assumed  a  more  serious  tone 
than  that  in  which  he  had  been  speaking. 

"Well,  Mr.  Crane,"  he  said,  "you  commenced  by 
asking  me  a  question, — a  question  about  a  topic  to 
which  I  had  never  given  much  thought.  And  our 
argument  has  led  me  to  a  conclusion.  Doesn't  it 
all  come  down  to  this,  that  sugar,  like  everything 
else,  is  capable  of  use  or  abuse?" 

"Suppose  you  illustrate." 

"Well,  consider  its  abuses  first.  We  may 
transform  it  into  Jamaica  and  Santa  Cruz  rum.  By 
over-reaching,  grasping  business  methods,  we  may 
give  the  commodity  itself  a  bad  name;  that  is,  a 
bad  business  name.  Or  we  may  make  a  proper 
use  of  it,  as  a  necessary  and  a  wholesome  food. 
And  we  may  so  develop  the  industry  of  producing 
it  as  to  afford  prosperity  for  a  large  population, 
instead  of  swollen  fortunes  for  a  few;  a  good  living 
for  thousands  of  contended  farmers  on  small 
holdings,  instead  of  misery  and  death  for  hordes 
of  negroes  herded  on  West  Indian  plantations." 

"Well  done,  professor.     It's  up  to  mankind." 

"It*s  up  to  us.  Use  or  abuse.  Rum  and 
*blackbirding*  and  inflated  fortunes  vs.  refined 
sugar  and  a  prosperous  population." 

And  then  then  the  professor  added, 

"And  isn't  it  true  that  for  the  last  hxmdred 
years,  we  have  been  approaching  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  latter  state  of  affairs?" 

Crane  had  to  admit  it.  With  a  hearty 
hand-clasp  he  parted  from  the  professor,  for  he 
and  Sherrill  would  retire  early,  to  be  ready  for 
an  early  start  next  morning. 


IV 

THE    ROOF    GARDEN 

WHERE  gigantic  windows  of  plate-glass  looked 
out  on  the  pavement,  was  situated  the  dining- 
room  of  the  "big  hotel"  in  Honolulu,  where 
Crane  had  registered.  The  room  was  on  the 
ground-floor,  so  that  it  might  be  appraised  through 
the  windows  by  the  passers-by — an  arrangement 
made  with  an  eye  to  publicity. 

On  the  evening  of  his  return  from  the  "voyage 
of  circumnavigation"  Crane  sat  at  one  of  the 
damask-covered  tables,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  crisp 
white  linen,  and  fresh  from  a  bath.  He  had  just 
finished  a  dinner  "fit  for  the  gods" — at  least  it 
had  seemed  so  to  a  man  with  an  appetite  sharpened 
by  a  day  in  the  open.  As  he  rose  from  the  table 
his  mood  was  very  philanthropic.  His  soul 
expanded  with  his  waist-measure.  He  could  almost 
have  been  cordial  to  an  officer  of  the  X  Sugar 
Company,  and  when  he  saw  John  Carding's  eye 
fixed  on  him  through  the  plate-glass  window,  he 
answered  Carding's  bow  with  a  very  pleasant 
smile. 

However,  he  did  not  feel  expansive  enough  to 
care  for  the  young  man's  society,  and  when 
Carding  turned  toward  the  hotel  entrance.  Crane 
hurried  from  the  room  to  avoid  him. 

"If  the  cub's  after  me,"  he  thought,  I'll  make 
him  hunt  for  me." 


THE  ROOF  GARDEN  41 

The  evening  was  young,  and  Crane  felt  like 
enjoying  the  fresh  air  of  the  night.  He  entered  an 
elevator  and  ascended  to  the  top  of  the  hotel,  for 
on  the  flat  roof  there  was  a  roof-garden. 

The  garden  was  shielded  by  two  wind-breaks, 
made  by  the  building  rising  a  story  higher  at  each 
end,  so  as  to  shelter  a  long  central  space  where 
banana  trees  and  fan-palms  grew  in  deep  boxes. 
Rows  of  smaller  boxes  held  hibiscus  bushes. 

It  was  good  to  be  there.  The  place  was 
redolent  of  the   languorous  tropics. 

There  were  no  dazzling  arc-lights.  The  soft 
glow  of  shaded  electric  bulbs  harmonized  with  the 
night. 

The  night  was  clear.  There  was  no  moon.  Only 
the  great  tropical  stars  glowed  in  a  sky  which 
was  black  velvet.  The  air  was  cooled  by  the 
gentle  stirring  of  the  trade-wind,  as  it  came  fresh 
from  hills  where  showers  were  falling. 

Honolulu  harbor  lay  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
away.  Crane  saw  the  lights  of  the  vessels  at  the 
wharves.  He  saw  the  riding-lights  of  a  revenue 
cutter.  He  noted  the  fitful  flashes  from  fishing- 
boats,  and  the  strong  glare  from  the  lighthouse. 
An  inter-island  steamer  was  arriving,  moving 
slowly  across  the  water,  both  of  its  decks  blazing 
with  electricity.  Meanwhile,  a  band  was  playing 
somewhere  in  the  city.  The  breeze  brought  the 
boom  and  blare  of  the  muFic,  softened  by  distance. 
He  heard  it  die  down,  and  then  he  heard  a  roaring 
native  chorus  rise,  accentuated  by  thumps  on  the 
base  drum.  The  unfamiliar  lights,  the  unfamiliar 
sounds,  the  tropical  feel  of  the  air,  all  served  to 


42  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

impress  upon  him  that  he  was  in  an  unfamiliar 
environment. 

To  a  resident  of  those  regions  the  night  would 
not  have  appealed  as  anything  unusual.  But  to 
Crane,  with  the  memory  of  San  Francisco  fogs 
still  strong  in  his  mind,  it  seemed  marvelous. 

"Spicy  breezes  blow  soft  o'er  Ceylon's  isle,"  he 
murmured,  as  he  stretched  himself  in  a  deep  rattan 
chair  which  stood  beneath  a  palm.  He  was  in  a 
mood  to  give  his  soul  to  mellow  meditation. 

He  thought  of  the  business  which  had  brought 
him  to  Honolulu.  Inspired  by  a  good  dinner,  he 
saw  it  coming  to  the  happiest  of  conclusions.  With 
the  optimism  of  youth  he  could  see  only  his  own 
side  of  the  situation.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that 
the  malefactors  might  be  doing  any  planning  and 
plotting  of  their  own. 

The  place  where  he  lay  was  in  deep  shadow.  A 
dozen  feet  away  there  stood  a  scattering  of  rattan 
chairs  and  tables,  showing  strongly  against  the 
darkness  beyond.  They  were  unoccupied  at  the 
moment.  But  five  minutes  later  he  heard  the 
Qheery  voices  of  a  party  of  guests.  A  tall  girl,  all 
in  white,  with  a  light  blue  ribbon  around  her  blond 
hair,  crossed  the  roof-garden.  A  party  of  four 
approached.  He  recognized  professor  Burl,  his 
wife  and  family. 

"Our  trails  cross  again,"  he  thought,  as  he  saw 
them  help  themselves  to  chairs,  but  he  lay  still  and 
said  nothing,  for  he  felt  embarrassed  when  he 
thought  that  they  must  necessarily  connect  him 
with  a  plight  into  which  they  had  been  plunged 
that  afternoon. 


THE  ROOF  GARDEN  43 

They  seemed  to  be  in  a  merry  mood.  There 
were  jokes  and  repartee. 

"This  isn't  eavesdropping,"  thought  Crane.  "This 
is  a  public  place.  And  evidently  they  don't  mind 
if  they  are  overheard,  for  there  are  others  as  near 
to  them  as  I."  And  then  he  saw  John  Carding 
coming  across  the  roof. 

Carding's  lean  face  was  as  long  as  ever,  his 
black  hair  just  as  stiff.  He  was  walking  slowly, 
and  evidently  was  looking  for  someone.  His  eye 
caught  that  of  professor  Burl.  The  professor  rose 
with  quick  courtesy,  his  hand  outstretched. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Carding." 

"Good  evening,  professor.  I  didn't  expect  to  see 
you  here.    I  thought  you  were  out  of  town." 

"Then  you  weren't  looking  for  me.  I  saw  you 
were  looking  for  someone,  and  I  thought  perhaps 
I  might  be  the  guilty  party." 

"Of  course  I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  professor, 
but  it  was  Mr.  Crane  I  was  after.  You  remember 
him  on  board  the  Nevada?  I  saw  him  in  the 
dining-room  ten  minutes  ago,  and  they  told  me  in 
the  office  he  had  gone  to  the  roof-garden.  You 
haven't  seen  him,  have  you?" 

"Why,  no.  We  arrived  here  just  this  minute. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Crane  will  show  himself  later.  Mean- 
while, won't  you  join  us?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  so,'*  and  Carding,  not  very 
graciously,  accepted  the  wicker  chair  which  the 
professor  offered. 

"You  have  been  out  of  town,  haven't  you, 
professor?"   Carding  asked. 

Mrs.  Burl  answered  for  her  husband.     "Indeed 


44  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

we  have!  And  such  an  experience!  It  was  like 
a  chapter  in  a  dime  novel.  And,  indirectly  our 
adventures  came  through  your  friend,  Mr.  Crane." 

"Oh,  then  you  know  what  Crane  has  been  doing 
with  himself,"  and  now  Carding  was  all  interest. 
Mentally  he  blamed  himself  for  having  almost 
avoided  an  interview  with  the  Burls. 

"Yes,  we  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  Mr. 
Crane,''  answered  Mrs.  Burl.  "But  I'll  let  the 
professor  tell  you  the  story.  You  know,  stories 
are  among  his  specialties." 

"Listeners  hear  no  good  of  themselves,"  thought 
Crane.     "Here  comes  the  story.'* 

"I  certainly  have  a  new  story  on  my  list," 
laughed  Burl.  "But  it  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Crane's, 
an  artillery  officer,  lieutenant  Sherrill,  who  got  us 
into  the  predicament." 

"What!  have  Crane  and  Sherrill  been  traveling 
together?" 

"Yes,  they've  been  circumnavigating  the  island, 
in  a  motor-boat.  The  way  we  met  them  was  like 
this.  We  went  by  rail,  fifty  miles,  to  a  hotel  on 
the  northern  shore,  where  we  stopped  over  night. 
After  dinner,  we  met  Mr.  Crane,  and  he  introduced 
us  to  his  friend,  the  artillery  officer.  When  we 
said  *Good  night,'  we  didn't  expect  to  see  them 
again  very  soon,  for  they  intended  to  travel  by 
water,  while  we  went  on  by  land.  But  the  next 
morning  they  offered  to  take  my  son  and  daughter 
in  their  boat,  part  of  the  way  to  Honolulu,  while 
Mrs.  Burl  and  I  set  out  by  motor-car.  We  came 
down  the  east  coast  of  the  island.  Mrs.  Burl  was 
quite  enraptured  with  the  scenery." 


THE  ROOF  GARDEN  45 

"Of  all  the  gorgeous  scenery  I  ever  have  seen, 
that  was  the  grandest,"  she  interrupted.  "What  a 
combination  of  pictures!  The  deep,  deep  blue  of 
the  sky,  the  fleecy  white  of  clouds,  the  glowing 
green  of  hill  and  plain,  with  here  and  there  a  dark 
volcanic  rock  just  showing  through  the  verdure!" 

"In  fact,  all  of  us  have  been  delighted  beyond 
measure,  although  I  believe  Mrs.  Burl  expressed 
herself  the  most  warmly." 

When  the  professor  and  Mrs.  Burl  expressed 
the  pleasure  which  the  landscapes  had  given  them, 
Carding  experienced  an  acute  pain.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  as  bad  as  if  "a  dart  had  pierced  his  liver," 
Jjut  he  hurried  them  away  from  the  subject  as 
quickly  as  he  could. 

"Yes!  Yes!!!  But  we  fellows  who  were  bom 
on  the  island  don't  think  much  about  it.  It's  such 
an  old  story  to  us.  But  where  did  the  adventure 
come  in?" 

"I  was  just  coming  to  that.  Of  course,  we  could 
have  reached  Honolulu  by  noon,  but  we  decided  to 
make  a  day  of  it  on  the  east  coast.  The  chauffeur 
told  us  of  a  place,  kept  by  some  Chinese,  where  we 
could  get  a  fairly  good  lunch.  When  we  arrived 
at  the  place,  we  found  the  young  people,  with 
Crane  and  Sherrill,  there  before  us.  It  was  after 
lunch  that  the  artillery  officer  advised  us  to  visit 
a  sugar  plantation  tucked  away  in  the  extreme 
southeastern  corner  of  the  island.  He  told  us 
what  a  glorious  good  fellow  the  manager  was, 
how  pleased  he  always  was  to  see  visitors,  and 
what  a  warm  reception  he  would  give  us.  Well, 
we   got  the  warm  reception." 


46  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"But,  father,  it  wasn't  Mr.  Sherrill's  fault!"  his 
daughter  interrupted. 

"No;  he  never  dreamed  what  he  was  getting  us 
into.  Well,  to  go  one  with  my  story,  the  lieutenant 
had  such  a  courteous  dignified  manner,  and  gave  us 
so  positive  an  assurance,  that  we  never  dreamed  of 
misadventure.  Away  we  went,  ten  miles  or  more, 
over  a  succession  of  little  hills." 

Burl  was  getting  warmed  up  to  his  subject.  He 
hitched  forward  in  his  chair.  He  spread  his  hands 
for  dramatic  effect.  Carding  saw  the  symptoms, 
and  squirmed  inwardly. 

"We  topped  a  little  hill,"  Burl  continued.  "The 
machine  slid  between  two  high  banks  of  clay,  and 
the  plantation  came  into  view.  Just  as  we  bent 
forward  to  see  it  better,  we  heard  a  hoarse  order, 
*Stop  that  machine.' 

"Two  rough  looking  fellows,  with  rifles  in  their 
hands,  slouched  into  the  road. 

"  *  Where  are  you  going?' 

"  *To  the  plantation,'  the  chauffeur  answered. 

"  'We'll  go  with  you,'  and  they  mounted  the 
foot-board,  one  on  each  side.  We  tried  to  ask 
them  some  questions,  but  they  were  most  uncom- 
municative. 

"Presently  we  were  at  the  plantation.  We 
stopped  near  a  row  of  low  frame  buildings.  One 
of  the  men  went  inside.  *He's  gone  to  consult 
the  manager,'  the  other  explained. 

"Then  the  man  came  back  and  wanted  our 
names.    I  wrote  them  out  and  gave  him  the  paper. 

"We  waited  half  an  hour.  Then  he  came  again. 
*AU  of  you  get  out,'  he  said. 


THE  ROOF  GARDEN  47 

"So  far,  we  had  thought  our  welcome  a  most 
chilly  one.    But  now  it  began  to  warm  up. 

"Our  captors  escorted  us  to  a  little  shed.  Then 
one  of  them  explained.  'Now,  we  don't  know  your 
little  game,'  he  said,  'but  we  ain't  taking  no 
chances.  You  people  are  going  back  to  Honolulu, 
and  two  of  the  boys  are  going  with  you,  as  soon 
as  they  get  something  to  eat,  and  saddle  their 
horses.  While  you  wait,  we'll  keep  you  where  you 
can't  play  no  tricks,'  and  he  opened  the  shed-door. 

"We  would  have  argued  with  them,  but  just 
then  a  squad  of  Japs  came  up,  each  of  them 
carrying  a  ferocious-looking  knife." 

"Oh,  the  most  frightful  knives  I  ever  saw,"  Mrs. 
Burl  interrupted;  "Nearly  as  long  as  my  arm,  and 
as  broad  as  my  hand,  and  as  sharp  as  razors." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Carding.  "Those  arc  the 
knives  they  use  for  cutting  cane.  But  I  never 
thought  they  looked  so  bad." 

"Well,  they  took  all  the  argument  out  of  us,  and 
when  the  men  signalled  the  Japs,  we  obeyed  meekly 
while  they  put  on  each  of  us  a  pair  of  handcuffs." 

"Handcuffs !"  and  Carding  wondered  whether  the 
professor  wasn't  stretching  the  story  a  little, 

"Handcuffed  we  were,  and  then  into  the  shed  wc 
were  herded.  There  was  a  rough  wooden  bench, 
which  had  been  hastily  dragged  inside.  Down  we 
sat,  the  most  disconsolate  bunch  of  tourists  that 
ever  happened.     But  the  worst  was  yet  to  come! 

"We  had  thought  that  the  guards  and  the  knives 
and  the  handcuffs  were  bad  enough.  But  now  they 
shut  the  door.  The  place  had  a  roof  of  corrugated 
iron.    The  sun  beat  full  upon  it,  and  almost  roasted 


48  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

us  alive.  There  wasn't  a  particle  of  ventilation, 
except  through  the  cracks.  I  guess  the  Black  Hole 
of  Calcutta  was  no  worse. 

"There  we  stayed  for  half  an  hour,  baking 
beneath  the  broiling  sun  of  the  tropics.  Our 
perspiration  poured  in  streams.  We  seemed  to  be 
melting.    I  assure  you  it  was  no  joke. 

"Then  the  door  was  flung  open.  There  stood 
Crane  and  Sherrill  with  the  manager.  They  had 
arrived  in  the  boat,  an  hour  after  we  had  arrived 
in  the  car.  The  lieutenant  had  explained  everything 
to  the  manager,  who  was  all  apologies  now.  Our 
handcuffs  were  removed.  They  had  been  put  on 
us  without  the  manager's  knowledge.  Our  close 
confinement  was  due  to  overzealousness  on  the 
part  of  deputy  sheriffs  who  were  guarding  the 
plantation." 

"But  why  should  deputy  sheriffs  be  guarding  a 
sugar  plantation?" 

"On  acount  of  labor  troubles.  Two  hundred  of 
their  best  men  had  been  spirited  away,"  and  the 
professor  went  on  to  give  the  conclusion  of  the 
story. 

"Really,"  he  admitted,  "the  manager  treated  us 
royally  after  he  knew  who  we  were.  But  if  he 
had  heard  us  expressing  our  opinions  of  him  and 

Sherrill   while  we  were  locked  in  the  shed, " 

and  the  professor  shook  his  head  as  though  in 
grave  doubt  as  to  how  to  end  the  sentence,  while 
the  rest  of  the  party  tittered. 

"Well,  now  that  it  is  all  over,  the  experience 
doesn't  seem  so  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Burl.  "But  you 
can  hardly  imagine  how  good  it  s^em§  to  get  back 


THE  ROOF  GARDEN  45 

to  Honolulu  and  the  hotel  with  its  shower-baths 
and  its  chance  for  a  complete  change  of  clothing." 

"To  sharpen  appreciation,  there  is  nothing  like 
contrast,"  said  the  professor.  "To  enjoy  rest  we 
must  be  weary;  to  enjoy  food  we  must  be  hungry; 
to  properly  appreciate  any  good  thing,  it  is 
necessary  to  have  known  its  lack.  This  afternoon 
we  were  hot,  perspiring,  dusty  and  dirty,  a  little 
tired  by  our  long  ride.  This  evening  we  are  back 
at  the  hotel,  with  its  shower-baths,  as  Mrs.  Burl 
says.  And  how  we  appreciated  its  comforts  and 
opportunities  for  cleanliness!  How  good  our 
dinner  tasted  after  our  day  in  the  open  air!  And 
how  good  it  feels  to  lean  back  in  these  chairs  and 
rest  and  enjoy  the  cool  air  of  the  evening,  after 
the  heat  and  dust  of  the  day!" 

The  professor,  once  started,  was  a  man  who  liked 
to  monopolize  a  conversation.  But  Carding  had 
been  on  pins  and  needles  for  some  minutes  to  find 
out  more  about  Crane's  relations  with  Sherrill,  and 
now  he  cut  in  with  a  string  of  questions. 

"Were  Crane  and  Sherrill  old  friends?"  "How 
did  they  come  to  be  traveling  together?"  "What 
was  their  object  in  making  the  trip?"  "What  points 
had  they  visited  en  route?"  and  so  on  and  so  forth. 
The  professor  could  only  answer  that  Crane 
appeared  to  be  a  tourist,  intent  on  seeing  the 
sights  of  Hawaii,  and  that  he  probably  had 
accepted  the  lieutenant's  invitation  for  a  cruise  just 
as  anyone  else  might  have  accepted,  had  he  been 
fortunate  enough  to  be  invited. 

Meanwhile,  Crane  lay  and  listened  and  asked 
himself,  "How  comes  that  fellow  to  be  so  interested 


50  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

in  my  comings  and  goings?"  and  the  lieutenant's 
caution  recurred  to  him,  "Look  out  for  leaks."  "Is 
there  a  leak  in  this  business,  somewhere?"  he  asked 
himself.  "It's  a  good  thing  I  overheard  this 
conversation.  I'd  hate  to  play  the  spy  on  the 
professor,  but  as  for  Carding — All's  fair  in  war." 

At  that  moment  a  page  arrived  with  lieutenant 
Sherrill's  card.  Burl  and  his  party  withdrew, 
following  the  boy.  Crane  rose  and  walked  to  the 
parapet.  Resting  his  arms  on  the  gray  stone  he 
looked  toward  the  harbor. 

As  he  stood  there  he  kept  puzzling  his  brain 
over  Carding's  attitude.  The  only  conclusion  he 
could  come  to  was  that  his  proper  course  would 
be  to  continue  to  act  as  he  had  so  far,  doing 
nothing  overt  until  the  time  to  strike  should 
arrive;  also  to  have  as  little  as  possible  to  say  to 
the  lieutenant  in  public. 

His  understanding  of  the  subject  would  have 
been  improved  wonderfully,  could  he  have  read 
the  thoughts  which  revolved  in  Carding's  mind  as 
he  walked  up  Fort  street.  "Perhaps  we  don't 
know  the  names  of  the  holders  of  the  minority 
stock  in  the  X  Sugar  Company!  Perhaps  I 
haven't  been  paid  for  a  year  to  keep  an  eye  on 
those  people!  Perhaps  we  don't  know  that 
something  is  in  the  wind!  Wish  I  knew  just  what 
it  is.    Well,  I'll  keep  close  tab  on  Mr.  Crane  from 


V 

FRANK  ATTEN,    SECRETARY 

NEXT  morning,  Carding  lost  no  time  in  "getting 
busy,"  as  he  expressed  it. 
"The  first  thing  to  do,"  he  thought,  "is  to 
let  them  know  that  Crane  is  here,  and  put  them 
on  their  guard,"  and  he  inquired  by  telephone 
whether  Frank  Atten,  secretary  of  the  X  Sugar 
Company,  was  in  his  office.  Assured  on  that  point, 
he  took  his  way  down  Fort  street  to  the  central 
portion  of  the  city,  where  he  entered  an  office  with 
the  sign   "Tropical   Investment   Company." 

The  Tropical  Investment  Company  consisted  of 
Mr.  Frank  Atten.  A  smaller  sign  informed  the 
public  that  he  was  also  "attorney-at-law."  His 
duties  as  secretary  of  the  X  Sugar  Company  were 
so  nominal  that  there  was  no  sign  to  indicate  that 
he  had  any  connection  with  the  corporation. 

The  office  was  not  a  large  one,  nor  did  its 
appearance  indicate  that  much  business  was 
transacted  there.  It  consisted  of  a  single  room. 
The  rear  half  was  railed  off.  A  stenographer  sat 
behind  the  railing.  There  was  a  roll-top  desk,  its 
top  ornamented  with  a  row  of  pineapples.  Their 
golden  brown  and  lustrous  green  lent  a  dash  of 
color  to  the  room.  Frank  Atten  was  sitting  at 
the   desk. 

He  was  a  man  of  large  physique  and  imposing 
appearance.     As  an  undergraduate  at  college,  he 


52  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

had  played  center  on  the  'Varsity  football  team. 
In  those  days  he  had  weighed  two  hundred 
pounds,  and  he  had  been  putting  on  weight  ever 
since.  But  his  frame  was  so  large — he  was  over 
six  feet  high  and  broad  in  proportion — that  he 
didn't  seem  unwieldly.  In  truth,  he  was  by  no 
means  a  bad  looking  man.  With  his  broad, 
smooth-shaven  face  and  clear-cut  features  and  dark 
hair,  he  reminded  one  somehow  of  those  Flemish 
and  Dutch  burgomasters  whose  portraits  the  old 
masters  of  the  Middle  Ages  delighted  to  paint. 

He  was  no  vulgar  sharper,  for,  whatever  may 
be  said  of  the  shortcomings  of  lawyers,  the  man 
who  practises  law  usually  has  a  good  deal  of 
respect  for  the  law.  Whatever  Frank  Atten  did, 
was  strictly  legal.  But  he  always  seemed  to  get 
the  long  end  of  a  bargain,  and  his  reputation  for 
hoggishness  was  such  that  there  were  those  who 
had  once  been  his  warm  friends  who  now  claimed 
that  had  the  Prodigal  Son  applied  to  him  for 
permission  to  eat  "the  husks  the  swine  fed  upon," 
he  would  have  asked  the  young  man  to  "pay  in 
advance"  for  the  meal. 

He  had  the  build  of  a  hippopotamus,  and  along 
with  the  build,  he  had  the  voracity  of  the  animal. 
Ever  since  he  was  a  boy  he  had  been  guided  by 
two  rules  of  conduct, — never  to  let  a  dollar  get 
by  him  if  he  could  help  it,  and  always  to  make 
sure  that  his  expenses  were  being  paid  by  someone 
else.  For  the  last  six  years  all  the  bills  of  himself 
and  family  had  been  charged  to  the  running 
expenses  of  the  X  sugar  plantation.  Wasn't  Atten 
secretary  of  the  company?    And  wasn't  he  entitled 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     53 

to  remuneration? — salary  and  expenses.  "The 
laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire.'* 

Atten  prided  himself  on  his  address.  With  his 
expansive  smile,  his  expansive  waist-measure,  his 
dignified  tone,  and  his  hearty  handclasp,  he  could 
win  confidence  where  others  would  only  meet 
suspicion.  With  young  men  he  cultivated  an  easy 
air  of  good-fellowship.  But  everything  he  did  was 
a  pose.  He  was  always  "out  for  Atten."  When 
his  smile  was  most  genial,  he  was  surest  to  be 
thinking  how  he  "could  eat  the  other  fellow  up," 
or  at  least  "upset  the  other  fellow's  apple-cart." 
In  short,  be  exemplified  the  adage  that  a  man  can 
"smile  and  smile  and  be  a  villain  still." 

But  the  man  who  is  totally  self-centered  is  apt 
to  defeat  himself.  No  matter  what  line  Atten  took 
up,  he  was  apt  to  "go  up  like  a  rocket  and  come 
down  like  a  stick."  On  leaving  college,  he  had 
entered  the  teaching  profession.  Schools  outbid 
each  other  to  attract  the  ex-football-champion. 
But,  as  an  educator,  he  carried  so  many  side-lines, 
he  was  interested  in  so  many  money-making 
schemes,  that  after  a  short  career  school  authorities 
advised  him  to  devote  himself  altogether  to  finance. 
Then  it  was  that  he  had  studied  law,  and  had  come 
to  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  where  he  established  a 
business  connection  with  some  parties  who  wished 
to  start  a  sugar  plantation,  and  who  wanted  a  glib 
talker  to  boost  their  enterprise  and  a  lawyer  to 
watch  over  its  legal  affairs. 

But  he  still  carried  side-lines,  and  the  Tropical 
Investment  Company  was  his  latest.  With  a  ready 
How  of  language  he  was  explaining  the  advantages 


54  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

of  the  Hawaiian  Islands  to  a  prospective  investor. 
He  recognized  Carding,  and  called, 

"Just  take  a  chair,  John.  Miss  Smith,  will  you 
let  Mr.  Carding  have  this  morning's  Advertiser?" 

From  these  indications  Carding  judged  that 
Atten  would  not  be  at  liberty  very  soon.  He 
settled  himself  with  the  paper,  but  his  nature  led 
him  to  pay  less  attention  to  the  news  than  to 
the  conversation  going  on  behind  the  railing; 
especially  as  he  thought  he  recognized  the  back  of 
Atten's  visitor. 

Atten  resumed  the  thread  of  his  talk.  "Yes,  sir," 
he  went  on,  "as  I  was  saying,  I  have  been  a 
resident  of  this  city  for  the  past  ten  years  and 
some  months.  All  I  possess  is  invested  in  these 
islands,  and  I  have  prospered  wonderfully.  I 
think  I  can  illustrate  our  situation  here  by  means 
of  a  little  story.  Perhaps  you  remember  what  the 
editor  said  of  his  state, — it  was  Kansas,  I  believe. 
He  said,  *We  have  no  Shakespeares  among  us, 
but  we  have  happiness  and  we  have  prosperity.' 
He  believed  they  had  good  cause  to  be  content. 

"Well,  it's  a  good  deal  like  that  here  in 
Hawaii, — perhaps  a  little  more  so.  I  don't  know 
whether  any  of  us  shall  leave  permanent  foot- 
prints on  the  sands  of  time,  but  we  have  happiness 
and  we  have  prosperity,"  and  Atten  beamed  on 
his  visitor  with  a  most  winsome  smile. 

"Do  I  understand  from  that,"  the  man  inquired, 
"that  you  advise  me  to  settle  in  Kansas  or  to 
settle  in   Hawaii?" 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  live  in  a  country  where 
you  can  eat  your  dinner  in  the  open  air  on  the 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     55 

verandah  every  day  in  the  year,  I  advise  Hawaii. 
But  if  you  prefer  a  place  where  you  need  to  keep 
your  cyclone  cellar  propped  open  and  one  eye 
always  turned  to  windward  to  see  if  a  'twister' 
is  coming, — a  country  where,  as  the  poet  so 
picturesquely  puts  it, 

*Full  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies. 

Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies,* 
then   choose   Kansas." 

But  Atten's  visitor  was  ready  to  meet  him  on 
that  ground. 

"I  had  no  notion  of  going  there,"  he  answered, 
"but  please  remember  that  when  Mr.  Goldsmith 
wrote  so  unkindly  of  Kansas,  he  also  commented 
caustically  on  the  tropics.     He  mentioned 

*Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray, 

And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day; 

Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 

But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling; 

Those    poisonous    fields    with    rank    luxuriance 

crowned, 
Where  the  dark  scorpion  scatters  death  around; 
Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 
The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake.* 

"How  is  that  for  a  picture  of  the  tropics?** 
"It's  not  a  picture  that  applies  to  these  islands, 
however  well  it  may  apply  to  British  India,'* 
answered  Atten.  "In  the  first  place,  there  is  not 
a  rattlesnake  nor  any  other  sort  of  snake  to  be 
found  in  all  this  country.  Our  scorpions  are  not 
venomous,  and  our  fields  are  not  poisonous,  even 
if  they  are  luxuriant  beyond  measure.     We  have 


56  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

no  bats,  and  the  thermometer  rarely  goes  above 
eighty  degrees  in  the  shade." 

"Then  the  only  features  which  you  admit  are 
the  *matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to  sing.' " 

"I  guess  we  have  them,  and  they  contain 
immense  supplies  of  very  valuable  timber." 

The  visitor  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  then  he 
said,  "Well,  Mr.  Atten,  this  is  certainly  a  very 
attractive  country." 

Atten  needed  no  further  encouragement.  He 
launched  out,  "And  the  opportunities  which  it 
offers  are  absolutely  limitless;  sugar,  pineapples, 
rubber,  cocoa-nuts,  coffee,— every  one  of  them  a 
money-maker.  If  handled  on  a  large  scale,  each 
is  a  bonanza." 

"Millions  in  it,  eh?" 

"Millions  in  it,  and  millions  are  being  taken  out. 
Consider  our  markets;  they  cover  the  globe.  Just 
see  our  geographical  location,"  and  he  pointed 
dramatically  to  a  map  of  the  world,  which  hung 
above  his  desk.  It  showed  all  routes  of  travel 
converging  to  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  Two  lines 
of  bold  black  type  informed  the  public  that 
Honolulu  is  "The  Cross-roads  of  the  Pacific." 

"H*m.  Seems  to  me  that  map  shows  that  your 
nearest  market  is  two  thousand  miles  away." 

"But  we  have  water  transportation,  sir ;  unlimited 
competition.  If  any  line  tries  to  cinch  us  on 
freight  rates,  we  cable  to  Norway  and  here  comes 
a  Norwegian  tramp.  He  gets  a  bounty  from  his 
government  for  every  mile  he  steams.  He  can 
carry  our  products  for  nothing,  and  still  make  a 
profit." 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     57 

"Good  enough.  But  tell  me  something  about 
sugar.     Any  chance  for  an   outsider?" 

"Sugar!  That's  our  mainstay!  Plenty  of  land 
left  yet ;  pay  for  it  on  the  installment  plan.  Harvest 
your  first  crop  in  three  years.  After  that  your 
net  profit  is  one  hundred  dollars  per  acre  per 
annum.  The  mill  builds  a  railway  to  your  door, 
and  takes  every  pound  you  produce. 

"Or,  if  you  don't  want  to  go  in  independently, 
buy  stock  in  some  company  organized  to  carry  on 
the  business  on  a  large  scale." 

"But  I've  heard  some  strange  stories  about 
the  sugar  industry.  Do  you  know  of  the  X 
plantation?" 

"I  know  there  is  such  a  property." 

"At  the  hotel  they  tell  me  it  never  yet  has 
paid  a  dividend." 

"Simply  because  the  stockholders  prefer  to  put 
the  returns  into  development  work,  buying  and 
planting  additional  acreage.  But  when  that 
development  work  comes  to  its  natural  conclusion, 
just  think  what  a  magnificent  piece  of  property 
they  will  have!  The  dividends  they  don't  get 
now,  will  return  to  them  multiplied  by  ten." 

"All  right.  But  I  want  to  learn  about  all  of 
your  products.     How  about  pineapples?" 

"They're  easier  still.  The  pineapple  industry  is 
the  home  of  the  independent  planter.  Our  pines 
weigh  ten  pounds  apiece,  some  of  them.  Get  land 
on  the  installment  plan,  and  get  your  plants  from 
the  cannery.  Each  pine  has  a  young  plant, 
growing  on  top  of  it..  The  canner  slices  it  off, 
and  gives  it  to  you.     You  stick  a  few  thousand 


58  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

in  the  dirt  and  nature  does  the  rest.  Harvest 
your  first  crop  in  a  year  and  a  half,  and  after 
that  one  hundred  dollars  per  acre  per  annum 
net.  Wish  I  could  introduce  you  to  my  friend, 
John  Hennessey.  He  came  to  Honolulu,  ten 
years  ago,  without  a  cent.  Got  a  job  on  the 
tramway  as  motorman.  Saved  his  money.  Bought 
a  few  acres  of  pineapple  land.  Planted  one  acre, 
and  hired  a  Jap  to  look  after  it.  Next  year  he 
planted  five.     Now  that  fellow's  rich." 

Atten  had  seized  a  huge  pine  from  the  top  of 
his  desk,  and  flourished  it  while  he  talked. 

"But  how  about  coffee?" 

"Coffee!  Oh,  that's  too  easy!  Sugar,  you  have 
to  irrigate  and  cultivate.  Pineapples,  you  have 
to  cultivate.  But  coffee!  You  just  take  the 
plants  into  the  forest  primeval  and  stick  each  of 
them  into  the  ground  under  the  shade  of  a  tree. 
No  irrigation,  no  cultivation.  Just  turn  them 
loose  in  the  forest  and  let  them  grow. 

"And  rubber  is  just  as  easy.  Cocoanuts,  too. 
All  of  them  moneymakers  of  the  first  magnitude, 
but  some  of  them  not  very  well  established  here 
yet.  I  don't  want  to  give  you  figures,  unless  I 
can  speak  with  absolute  certainty,"  and  Atten 
beamed  with  a  very  virtuous  air. 

"And  does  the  government  encourage  settlers?" 

"It  surely  does.  Why,  the  government  main- 
tains an  agricultural  experiment  station,  where 
every  problem  you  might  run  up  against  is  being 
solved  for  you." 

"But,  see  here.  Here  is  something  I  don't 
understand.     If  these  islands  afford  such  splendid 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     59 

opportunities  to  rich  and  poor,  why  are  people 
leaving  them  for  the  mainland?  Two  days  ago, 
one  hundred  Portuguese  laborers  ran  away  from 
one  of  the  plantations,  and  sailed  to  the  mainland." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?  Have  you  seen  any  such 
statement  in  any  of  our  daily  papers?" 

"No,  sir.  I  suppose  the  Advertiser  doesn't 
advertise  such  occurrences.  I  heard  it  from  one 
of  the  guests  at  the  hotel, — Professor  Burl.  He 
had  visited  the  plantation,  and  got  his  facts  on 
the  spot." 

"Well,  then  all  I  can  say  is  that  those  people 
were  grossly  deceived  and  misled  by  someone. 
They'll  never  be  able  to  do  as  well  on  the  mainland 
as  they  could  have  done  here.  But  I  see  you  are 
thinking  seriously  of  locating.  If  you  let  me 
know  about  how  large  a  sum  you  could  invest,  I 
could  advise  you  better." 

The  man  mentioned  a  sum  which  wasn't  very 
large,  but  it  made  Atten's  mouth  water,  neverthe- 
less.   "Never  let  a  dollar  get  by."  he  thought. 

"The  large  island  of  Hawaii,"  he  announced,  "is 
the  true  place  in  which  to  locate.  Why,  with  its 
four  thousand  square  miles,  it  is  bigger  than  all 
the  other  islands  in  the  group  put  together.  Now, 
we're  opening  up  a  district  on  its  west  coast, 
equally  good  for  sugar  or  pineapples,  and  that 
district  is  only  four  miles  from  the  forest.  You 
could  put  part  of  your  land  into  sugar,  part  into 
pines,  and  occupy  your  leisure  time  with  planting 
coffee  bushes  under  the  trees,"  and  Atten  pointed 
out  the  location  on  a  large  wall-map. 

The  man  studied  it  a  moment. 


60  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out  from  the  scale  of 
this  map,"  he  said,  "the  nearest  town  is  forty 
miles  away.  Well,  Mr.  Atten,  if  I  sighed  *for  a 
lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness,*  the  locality  you 
suggest  would  appeal  to  me  very  strongly.  But  I 
should  prefer  to  be  near  Honolulu." 

Atten's  winsome  smile  suffered  an  eclipse. 

"There  you  go.  That's  the  trouble  with  our 
people.  Instead  of  getting  out  in  the  country, 
where  a  man  can  be  his  own  master  and  make 
money,  labor  and  poverty  huddle  in  cities,  where 
they  can  hear  brass  bands,  enjoy  the  noon-day 
growler,  and  envy  luxuries  they  cannot  obtain." 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Atten,  I've  seen  something 
like  that  in  print,  somewhere.  No,  I  am  not  very 
poor,  and  I  don't  drink.  Beer  doesn't  appeal  to 
me.  But  neither  does  the  forest  primeval.  It 
seems  to  me  as  though  a  man  ought  to  be  able 
to  locate  in  this  island,  have  his  farm  out  in  the 
country,  and  his  home  in  Honolulu.  I  am  sure 
there  are  people  who  are  situated  just  that  way." 

"Certainly  there  are.  If  you  choose  to  pay 
enough,  I  guess  you  can  get  land  in  this  island. 
But  I  can  meet  you  on  your  own  ground.  This 
is  an  investment  company.  We  are  developing  a 
large  acreage  ourselves.  You  can  put  your  money 
into  the  company.  We  will  manage,  cultivate  and 
harvest  an  acreage  proportional  to  your  investment. 
You  can  live  here  in  Honolulu  with  your  family, 
and  take  the  annual  returns.  Of  course,  you  would 
not  make  as  much  that  way  as  if  you  went  on  the 
land  yourself,  but  you'd  do  very  well." 

No,  the  man  wanted  to  go  on  the  land  himself, 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     61 

but  balked  at  the  idea  of  going  to  the  large  island 
of  Hawaii.  He  had  been  "reading  up  about  that 
island.  Flows  of  lava  a  mile  wide  come  rolling 
down  the  mountains.  Tidal  waves  a  hundred  feet 
high  come  roaring  in  from  the  sea,  and  these  are 
accompanied  with  terrific  earthquakes.  If  the 
lava  doesn't  bury  you,  and  the  water  doesn't  drown 
you,  the  earthquakes  quake  your  house  down  and 
kill  you  sure."  No,  no,  if  he  located  in  the  Islands, 
it  must  be  in  the  island  where  Honolulu  stands, 
"and  where  everything  is  peaceful." 

Atten  almost  exploded. 

"Tidal  waves!  lava  flows!  earthquakes!"  he 
exclaimed.  "Why,  my  dear  sir,  such  upheavals 
as  you  mention  may  not  occur  once  in  a  hundred 
years.  Wait,"  for  the  man  had  risen,  "I  cannot 
permit  you  to  go  without  correcting  such  a 
mistaken  notion.  Here's  the  Advertiser.  No,  don't 
laugh!  I  mean  to  show  you,  not  what  the  editor 
says,  but  what  the  president  of  the  Kansas 
Southern  Railroad  says.  He  returned  yesterday 
from  a  visit  to  the  volcano,  and — see,  here  it  is, 
on  the  second  page — he  says,  *If  there  is  anything 
in  opportunity,  scenery  and  climate,  the  island  of 
Hawaii  is  an  earthly  paradise.'  He's  stopping  at 
the  big  hotel,  and  if  you  doubt  the  paper,  go 
interview  him  for  yourself." 

But  the  man  declined  to  continue  the  argument. 
Assuring  Atten  that  he  had  already  taken  up  too 
much  of  the  latter's  valuable  time,  and  that  he 
"could  not  make  an  investment  without  studying 
the  matter  further,"  he  ended  by  bidding  the 
secretary  "Good  morning." 


62  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Consequently  the  latter  was  in  an  unamiable  frame 
of  mind  when  he  turned  to  interview  Carding. 

"I'd  have  landed  that  sucker,  sure,"  he  said,  "if 
those  knockers  at  the  hotel  hadn't  been  talking  to 
him." 

"I  doubt  very  much  if  you  would.  Do  you 
know  who  he  is?" 

"Why,  he  gave  me  his  card,"  and  Atten  took  it 
from  the  top  of  the  desk  and  read,  "Kenneth 
Crane." 

"The  man  about  whom  I  wrote  you.  The 
attorney  of  the  minority  stockholders." 

"The  dickens  he  is!     I  had  forgotten." 

"Yes,  and  now  he's  down  here,  posing  as  a 
tourist  and  sticking  his  nose  into  every  comer  of 
the  island.  I'm  here  to  talk  to  you  about  him.  He 
was  visiting  your  office  only  to  work  some  spy- 
game  on  you. 

"Well,  if  Mr.  Crane  wants  to  play  the  buttinsky, 
I  imagine  something  will  happen  to  him.  But  tell 
me  all  you  know." 

Which  Carding  proceeded  to  do,  telling  Atten 
how  the  minority  stockholders  stood,  how  they  had 
perfected  their  organization,  and  how  they  had 
delegated  full  authority  to  an  inner  circle,  a  circle 
of  which  Crane  was  the  center.  He  reminded 
Atten  how  often  they  had  sent  protests  to  Hono- 
lulu, and  he  concluded, 

"This  time  I'm  sure  they  have  some  big  scheme 
on  hand,  and  Crane  must  be  here  to  carry  it 
through.  But  just  what  it  is  I  don't  know.  On 
board  the  steamer  I  tried  to  get  into  his  confidence, 
but  he's  a  clamshell."  * 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     63 

Atten  studied  the  matter  a  minute,  and  then  said, 

"See  here,  young  man,  what  are  we  paying  you 
for?" 

"Well,  I  did  the  best  I  could." 

"But  we  want  results.  Results  are  what  we're 
paying  for.  Here  we've  been  carrying  your  college 
expenses  for  a  year,  and  you  bring  us  nothing  but 
vague   generalities." 

Carding  looked  so  sour  at  this,  that  it  made 
Atten  pause. 

"It  never  would  do  to  drive  him  over  to  the 
enemy,"  he  thought,  and  his  manner  changed.  The 
winsome  smile  returned. 

"Never  mind,  old  man,"  he  said.  "You  did  the 
best  you  could,  and  youVe  put  us  on  our  guard. 
So  those  fellows  believe  they  can  spoil  our 
game  of  freeze-out.  But,  is  Crane  alone?  Has  he 
no  one  with  him?" 

"He  seems  to  be  alone.  One  of  the  professors 
from  the  university  is  down  here.  He  came  in  the 
same  boat  as  Crane,  and  they  seem  friendly.  The 
professor's  name  is  Burl.  But  I  am  sure  he  is 
only  a  tourist." 

"Oh,  that's  the  party  who  is  advertising  the 
escape  of  the  Portuguese  from  the  W  plantation. 
What  sort  of  a  man  is  he?" 

"He's  as  harmless  as  any  other  college  professor. 
Just  let  him  monopolize  the  conversation,  and  that 
is  all  he  wants.  He  imagines  himself  quite  a 
story-teller.     He  loves  to  entertain  a  room-full  of 

company  with  something  like .     Here;  I'll  give 

you  an  illustration." 
•  "Never  mind,  John.     We'll  keep  the  illustration 


64  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

for  another  day.  But  have  he  and  Crane  been 
running  together?" 

"Why,  no.  They  seemed  to  meet  more  by 
accident  than  by  design,  when  they  did  meet.  But 
Crane  and  lieutenant  Sherrill  have  been  circum- 
navigating the  island.  They  spent  two  days  on 
the  cruise." 

"Two  days — and  Crane  has  been  here  only 
three!" 

"Well,  he  and  Sherrill  started  off  together  the 
morning  after  Crane's  arrival.  They  gave  me 
the  slip  completely.  I  couldn't  find  out  where 
Crane  was,  until  last  night,  when  I  saw  him  in 
the  hotel.  But  it  was  Burl  who  told  me  about 
Crane's  cruise,  for  they  had  met  at  different  points. 
Burl  thinks  Crane  is  a  typical  tourist;  but,  just 
the  same,  he  hasn't  registered  at  the  rooms  of  the 
Hawaiian  Promotion  Committee." 

"That  may  be  because  he  was  slow  in  getting 
there.  I'll  call  them  up,"  which  Atten  proceeded 
to  do. 

In  reply  to  his  inquiry  as  to  whether  a  Mr. 
Kenneth  Crane,  from  California,  had  registered, 
he  was  told, 

"Yes.  He  was  here  this  morning.  He  has  just 
finished  making  arrangements  to  join  a  party  of 
tourists  who  are  going  around  the  island  by  auto 
to-morrow.  He  left  the  office  only  a  minute  ago. 
Did  you  want  to  speak  to  him?" 

"I'll  catch  him  at  his  hotel.  But,  about  that 
excursion;  is  there  room  for  another?" 

"We  have  just  one  place  left." 

"Please  hold  it  for  a  friend  of  mine — Mr.  John 


FRANK  ATTEN,  SECRETARY     65 

Carding.  He'll  be  in  the  office  to  settle  for  it, 
inside  of  ten  minutes."  and  Atten  turned  to 
Carding. 

"John,  I  want  you  to  keep  right  after  that  fellow. 
And  let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice.  When  you 
want  a  man  to  tell  you  things  he  shouldn't  tell, 
just  steer  him  toward  the  topic,  and  get  him 
started  talking.  Be  a  little  argumentative.  Just 
suggest  your  arguments  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,  making  it  necessary  for  him  to  get  deeper 
into  the  subject  in  order  to  justify  his  own 
opinions  and  beliefs.  If  his  suspicions  have  not 
been  aroused  as  to  your  motives,  it  will  surprise 
you  how  much  he'll  give  away  before  he's  through." 


VI 

MOTORING    IN    THE    TROPICS 

THREE  gigantic  sight-seeing  cars,  loaded  with 
tourists,  panted  ponderously  up  a  winding 
road  which  led  through  a  tropical  valley. 
Crane  occupied  a  place  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
first  machine.  John  Carding  sat  directly  behind 
him.  And  among  the  passengers  in  the  second 
machine  were  professor  Burl  and  party. 

Up  the  valley  they  went — the  valley  which  lay 
behind  Honolulu  and  formed  a  pass  through  the 
mountains.  On,  on,  on,  ran  the  road,  twining 
upward  at  the  gentlest  possible  grade,  until  the 
head  of  the  pass  was  gained  and  the  cars  stopped 
on  the  brink  of  a  tremendous  precipice — the  Pali, 
as  the  Hawaiians  call  is. 

The  travelers  from  their  airy  perch  gazed  out 
over  the  brilliant,  many-tinted  plain  which  lay 
below,  out  to  where  the  ocean  rolled  upon  the 
coral  reef  that  bordered  the  shore.  For  a  score 
of  miles  beyond  they  saw  the  deep  blue  of  the 
Pacific,  dotted  with  white  caps. 

The  conductor  of  the  party  arose  and  lifted  a 
megaphone  to  make  an  announcement.  After  a 
few  minutes  delay  they  would  "cross  the  island, 
skirt  its  eastern  coast,  traverse  half  the  sugar  belt 
on  its  northern  shore,  and  then  turn  southward 
over  the  plateau  and  through  the  pineapple 
country.     The  trip  would  end  with  a  glimpse  of 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  67 

Pearl  Harbor  and  a  look  at  its  rice-fields.  Then 
the  machines  would  dash  into  Honolulu." 

"Dash  away,"  said  Crane,  and  away  they  dashed. 
By  means  of  a  gallery  cut  in  the  cliff  the  road  had 
been  led  to  the  plain  below.  The  machines  swept 
down  the  grade  and  around  its  curves  until  they 
reached  the  lowland,  where  they  were  surrounded 
with  all  the  tropical  color  and  picturesque  life  of 
Hawaii. 

The  machines  turned  toward  the  shore. 
Presently  they  were  racing  along  the  beach.  Crane 
could  look  back  at  the  mighty  mountain-wall,  more 
than  half  a  mile  in  height,  which  opposed  its 
vertical  front  to  the  trade-wind. 

Tapestried  and  garlanded  from  base  to  summit 
with  a  glowing  mantle  of  tropical  vegetation; 
seamed  and  channeled  with  a  thousand  colossal 
wrinkles  running  from  bottom  to  top,  it  presented 
a  combination  of  beauty  and  sublimity  rarely 
equalled  the  wide  world  over. 

To  Crane  this  trip  was  a  great  adventure.  To 
the  others  is  was  only  a  tourists*  excursion.  But 
he  was  young  and  imaginative,  and  here  he  was, 
exploring  the  valleys  and  shores  of  this  palm- 
studded,  coral-girt  island,  bent  on  an  enterprise 
which  meant  the  defeat  of  opponents  whom  he 
might  regard  as  hostile  giants.  He  looked  on 
himself  as  a  modern  knight-errant. 

Skirting  the  coast,  they  reached  the  northern 
shore  of  the  island,  and  turned  westward.  It  was 
just  three  hours  after  their  time  of  starting  that 
the  cars  stopped  before  the  tourist  hotel  where 
Burl  and  Sherill  first  had  met.    On  the  neighboring 


68  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

plantation  the  noon  whistles  were  blowing.  The 
conductor  announced  a  stop  of  "one  hour  for 
lunch.'' 

It  was  a  luxury  to  descend  to  terra  firma  and 
enjoy  a  change  of  position.  The  dining-room  on 
the  verandah  was  as  attractive  by  day  as  it  had 
been  by  twilight.  The  dainty  tables,  the  clusters 
of  tropical  flowers  contrasting  with  the  white 
damask,  and  then  the  well-managed  luncheon,  all 
seemed  ten  times  as  delightful  at  that  remote 
spot  as  they  would  have  seemed  in  a  city. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  meal  the  travelers 
lingered,  resting  in  their  chairs.  Conversation 
passed  from  table  to  table.  They  seemed  like  one 
great  family  party.  The  sights  and  scenes  of  the 
journey  made  the  main  topic.  Miss  Burl  was 
explaining  that  she  had  brought  a  copy  of 
Longfellow's  "Evangeline"  with  her,  and  that  she 
and  the  professor  had  amused  themselves  on  the 
way,  by  writing  parodies  on  some  of  the  verses — 
parodies  reflecting  the  island  scenery. 

"Won't  you  read  us  yours?"  asked  one.  The 
request  was  echoed  by  others.  It  became  general 
accompanied  by  hand-clapping.  Blushing  a  little. 
Miss  Burl  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  verandah, 
her  note-book  in  hand.  She  leaned  against  the 
low  railing,  beside  a  white  pillar.  Standing  there, 
in  her  white  sailor-suit  with  its  scarlet  neckerchief, 
the  turned-down  brim  of  her  light  straw  hat 
shading  her  rosy  face,  she  read: 

"This  is  the  land  of  Hawaii.     The  cocoanut  palm  and 

the   breadfruit, 
Waving  their  graceful  fronds  that  shimmer  with  green 

in  the  sunlight. 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  69 


Stand   where    the    ocean   breaks    on    the    shore    which 

lies  in  their  shadow; 
Stand    like    clusters    of   plumes   adorning   the   tropical 

landscape. 
Calmed  by  the  coral  reef,  the  dark  blue,  neighboring 

ocean 
Glides  to  the  feet  of  the  trees  to  reflect  their  forms 

in   its   surface. 

"In  that  bright  land  of  Hawaii  the  trade-wind  always 
is  blowing, 

Soothing  with  sibilant  whispers  the  dreams  of  the 
island   people; 

Playing  with  plumes  of  palms,  or  rustling  the  leaves 
of  the  breadfruit, 

While  its  white  clouds  are  bringing  to  the  volcanic 
mountains 

Sho^yers  which  descend  their  slopes  to  the  deep- 
lying  tropical  valleys, 

Filling  those  valleys  with  verdure  and  streams  and 
profusion  and  brightness.'* 

When  the  applause  had  subsided,  professor  Burl 
was  heard  explaining  that  he  "didn't  believe  Miss 
B.  had  been  quite  fair  to  Honolulu.  Why  write 
verses  about  the  island,"  he  asked,  "and  ignore 
the  city?  Now  here  are  the  lines  that  I  wrote," 
and,  without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  he  leaned 
back  in  his  place  and  read  them. 

"In  that  tropical  land,  a  land  of  scattered  islands. 
Where  the  Pacific's  blue  waves  are  rolling  above  the 

coral. 
Where  on  the  sandy  shore  the  cocoanut  palm  throws 

its   shadow, 
Where   on  the  fertile  plains  the  plantations  of  sugar 

are  growing. 
There  stands  a  city  whose  name  recalls   a  vanishing 

language. 

"In    that    delightful    land    which    is    washed    by    the 

ocean's  blue  waters. 
Shaded    with    cocoanut    groves    and    cooled    by    the 

breath  of  the  trade-wind, 
Stands   on   the   shore   of  its   harbor   the   city   we    call 

Honolulu. 


70  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  palm  is  the  emblem 

of  beauty. 
And  the  streets  still  re-echo  the  words  of  a  vanishing 

language. 
As    if    they    fain    would    appease    the    people    whose 

haunts  tiiey  molested." 

One  of  the  guests  started  to  say  that  some  of 
the  professor's  lines  sounded  "more  like  plagiarism 
than  parody,"  when  the  conductor  forestalled 
criticism  by  announcing  that  the  "machines  were 
ready.     All  aboard  for  the  pineapple  country." 

The  cars  climbed  the  grade  which  led  to  the 
plateau,  the  cane-fields  opening  out  a  sea  of 
lustrous  green  below  them,  and  then  rolled 
away  to  the  southward,  along  a  road  which 
ascended  slowly  and  steadily  for  eight  miles.  They 
stopped  when  they  had  gained  the  very  summit  of 
the  plateau,  nine  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea. 

Broad,  sweeping  slopes  stretched  to  the  hills 
miles  away  on  either  hand,  and  on  the  gentle 
undulations  lay  pineapple  plantations,  covering 
square  mile  after  square  mile  with  their  dark, 
luxuriant  green.  Here  and  there  rose  canneries 
and  the  homes  of  planters.  The  yard-high  plants 
were  set  in  mile-long  rows.  Occasionally  the  eye 
might  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  arrangement,  but  for 
the  most  part  the  plants  merged  into  a  sea  of 
verdure  which  blended  with  the  darker  green  of 
the  tree-covered  hills  to  the  east.  The  mountains 
to  the  west  were  comparatively  high  and  bare.  At 
one  point  they  were  notched  by  a  deep  gap  which 
resembled  on  a  smaller  scale  the  opening  at  the 
head  of  the  valley  behind  Honolulu. 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  71 

"We  call  it  'The  Gap',"  the  conductor  of  the 
excursion  explained.  "It's  a  pass  through  the 
western  range.  There's  a  road  running  through  it, 
from  here  to  the  west  coast.  A  man  can  follow  it 
on  foot  or  on  horse-back,  and  some  think  that  the 
view  westward  through  'The  Gap'  beats  the  view 
from  the  Pali." 

"Is  there  a  precipice  on  the  farther  side?"  asked 
Crane. 

"Not  precisely  a  precipice,  but  the  ground  falls 
away  very  steeply,  and  the  pass  is  higher  than  the 
Pali;  about  three  hundred  feet  higher,  for  it  is 
fifteen  hundred  feet  above  sea  level." 

They  had  turned  aside  from  the  main  road  now, 
so  that  the  machine  might  tour  a  plantation  and 
circle  a  cannery.  The  conductor  was  spouting  a 
stream  of  facts  and  figures  relating  to  the  industry. 

"How  far  is  it  from  here  to  the  west  coast?" 
asked  Crane,  when  he  had  an  opportunity. 

"Oh,  about  twelve  miles." 

"It's  two  o'clock  now.  I  could  walk  across  and 
be  there  by  six,  easily.  Could  I  get  a  train  to 
Honolulu  at  that  hour?" 

"You  could  to-day.     They're  running  specials." 

"I  believe  I'll  do  it.  Anything  special  on  the 
way?" 

"There's  a  coffee  plantation  at  the  head  of  the 
valley,  as  soon  as  you  have  passed  the  Gap.  And 
there's  a  sugar  plantation  at  the  lower  end." 

Crane  remembered  the  plantation  on  the  west 
coast,  which  he  and  Sherrill  had  seen  from  the 
Firefly. 

"Good!    As  soon  as  we  turn  into  the  main  road, 


72  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

I  believe  111  jump  down  and  strike  out  to  the 
west.     No  chance  of  getting  lost,  is  there?" 

"No,  indeed!  There's  a  plain  road,  and  only 
one  road,  all  the  way." 

Consequently,  when  the  cars  were  ready  to 
resume  their  course  to  Honolulu,  Crane  climbed  out 
with  the  intention  of  finishing  the  trip  alone.  He 
looked  westward  along  the  way  which  he  must 
follow.     Just  then  he  heard  a  voice  at  his  elbow. 

"You  don't  mind  if  I  keep  you  company.  I 
couldn't  help  hearing  your  talk  with  the  conductor, 
and  I  decided  to  follow  your  lead." 

John  Carding  stood  there.  His  lean  face  was 
relaxed  into  its  nearest  approach  to  an  amiable 
smile.  And  for  once  Crane  was  inclined  to  welcome 
his  company.  New  to  the  island,  he  felt  some 
slight  uncertainty  about  his  ability  to  find  his  way. 

"Good  enough,"  he  answered.  "We'll  walk 
together.  I  suppose  you're  familiar  with  this  road. 
You're  a  native  of  this  island,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  I'm  a  native,  even  if  my  parents  are  white. 
And  I've  been  over  this  road  often  enough.  When 
I  was  a  high  school  boy,  we  used  to  organize 
walking  trips  clear  around  the  island." 

"I  was  a  little  surprised  to  see  you  in  a  tourists' 
excursion." 

"Oh,  I'm  run  down;  feeling  seedy.  The  doctor 
advised  the  open  air,  and,  as  my  father  doesn't 
own  a  machine,  he  advised  me  to  take  this  trip. 
But  I'm  glad  to  shake  that  bunch.  I  listened  to 
enough  twaddle  to  last  me  for  a  year.  And  that 
poetry  at  the  lunch  table,  that  was  the  limit!" 

"I'm  afraid  we're  going  to  disagree,  already,  Mr. 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  73 

Carding.  The  verses  sounded  good  to  me.  In 
fact,  those  people  followed  the  original  so  closely 
in  places,  that  they  could  hardly  spoil  it." 

"Well,  I  guess  there's  nothing  poetical  about  me. 
At  least,  I  can't  see  anything  to  it  when  the  verses 
mention  nothing  but  a  lot  of  stupid  trees,  standing 
in  the  dirt.  Cocoa-palms  and  breadfruit!  Might 
as  well  write  about  lamp-posts  and  garbage-cans, 
for  all  I  can  see,"  from  which  it  is  evident  that 
Carding  had  been  bom  without  any  sense  of  grace 
or  beauty.  All  the  glories  of  God's  great  universe 
were  lost  on  him. 

"Now,  if  they  had  mentioned  beer,"  he  went  on, 
"or  if  someone  wrote  a  poem  in  praise  of 
Manhattan  cocktails,  I  might  see  something  in  it. 
Why,  the  great  English  poet,  Byron,  wrote  in 
praise  of  beer.  I  have  the  lines  in  my  note-book.'* 
He  produced  the  note-book  and  ran  over  its  pages. 
"Here  they  are,"  and  he  read: — 

"For  after  years  of  travel  by  a  bard  in 
Countries  of  greater  heat  but  lesser  suction, 
A  green  field  is  a  sight  which  makes  him  pardon 
The  absence  of  that  more  sublime  construction. 
Which  mixes  up  vines,  olives,  precipices, 
Glaciers,  volcanoes,  oranges  and  ices. 
And  when  I  think  upon  a  pot  of  beer — 

But  I  won't  weep! " 

"It  seems  to  me,  I  might  write  poetry  on  that 
topic  myself,"  he  went  on.  For  half  an  hour  Crane 
heard  him  mumbling  and  muttering  to  himself,  as 
they  walked  up  the  long  steady  rise  which  led 
to  the  Gap.  Then  he  exploded  with  this  little 
lyric  gem. 


74  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"Home  isn't  near.     I  fear 

"I'll  get  no  beer.     That's  clear." 

Crane  reserved  his  opinion. 

"In  former  times,  many  poets  wrote  in  praise  of 
beer,"  he  answered,  "although  that  sort  of  verse 
has  gone  out  of  fashion  lately.  In  Evangeline, 
Longfellow  mentions  the  'nut-brown  ale,  that  was 
famed  for  its  strength  in  the  village  of  Grand-Pre.* 
And  he  goes  on  to  describe  how  the  notary  'lifted 
aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank  to  their  welfare. 
Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lips,  he  solemnly  bowed 
and   departed!'" 

"Good!  I  must  make  a  note  of  that,"  and 
Carding  scribbled  in  his  note-book.  "I  suppose 
they'll  be  turning  Evangeline  out  of  the  schools 
next,  on  the  ground  that  it  teaches  intemperance." 

Presently  he  went  on.  "There's  another  sentiment 
which  appeals  to  me,  in  those  lines  which  I  copied 
from  Byron,  where  he  says  *a  green  field  is  a  sight 
which  makes  him  pardon  the  absence  of  that  more 
sublime  construction.'  The  prettiest  scenery  that 
ever  I  saw  was  a  green  field.    I'll  tell  you  about  it. 

"During  one  of  my  summer  vacations,  while  I 
was  attending  college,  I  had  gone  east  to  Chicago. 
I  had  travelled  by  the  Santa  Fe,  and  the  last  I 
remembered  of  California  was  the  San  Joaquin 
valley,  with  its  sand  and  dust  and  jack-rabbits; 
everything  barren  and  sun-scorched;  the  only  signs 
of  life,  out  in  the  country,  were  those  long-eared 
rabbits,  crouching  in  the  fields  or  jumping  into 
the  air.  You  know  what  that  country  is  like  in 
July,  after  the  crops  are  in. 

"Arizona,  New  Mexico,  Colorado,  were  no  better. 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  75 

But,  when  we  drew  near  to  Chicago,  how  delightful 
everything  looked.  It  had  been  raining  only  a 
few  hours  before — less  than  that,  I  guess — for  the 
rain-clouds  still  hung  in  the  sky  and  the  drops 
glittered  on  the  clover.  We  ran  between  great, 
deep  fields  of  red  clover,  where  the  cattle  stood  to 
their  knees, — and  how  good  those  fields  looked! 
No  stupid  palm-trees  there,  standing  in  a  lot  of 
coral  sand,  with  the  wind  slapping  their  branches 
about.  Everywhere  I  saw  rich  fertility  and 
freshness,  peace  and  prosperity.  Why,  Mr.  Crane, 
I  never  saw  anything  more  delightful  in  my  life. 
I'll  admit  I  may  be  a  little  blind  to  scenery,  but 
for  once  I  saw  something  delightful  to  look  at. 

"I  believe  that  when  Byron  wrote  those  lines 
about  a  green  field,  he  was  comparing  Greece  with 
England.  You  know  Greece  has  a  climate  very 
similar  to  that  of  California;  so  they  say.  I  guess 
he  compared  the  green  fields  of  old  England  with 
dusty  Greece,  very  much  as  I  compared  the  clover 
fields  of  Illinois  with  the  dusty  plains  of 
California." 

"The  fellow  can  thaw  out,  on  occasion,"  thought 
Crane,  but  he  only  said, 

"Plenty  of  green  fields  in  California  in  the 
spring.'' 

"Yes,  the  grain-fields;  I  know,"  answered 
Carding.  "But  they  never  appealed  to  me  like 
those  Illinois  clover-fields." 

"Isn't  the  secret  of  it  this:^ — that  the  unusual 
and  unfamiliar  arouse  and  interest,"  suggested 
Crane.  "To  Californians  the  idea  of  a  deep  grassy 
field   without   irrigation   in   the   summer   time,    is 


76  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

startling;  while  to  people  from  Chicago,  a  palm- 
tree  is  a  phenomenon/' 

"Perhaps  that  is  the  explanation.  But,  speaking 
of  a  phenomenon,  let  me  tell  you  another  thing 
they  have  in  Illinois.  It's  a  curiosity.  It's  a 
sort  of  mosquito." 

"Plenty  of  them  here." 

"Yes,   but   this   variety   doesn't   sting." 

"Good!    It  must  be  a  curiosity." 

"And  it  has  a  sort  of  electric  light  attachment, 
like  an  electric  torch,  on  a  very  small  scale.  You 
see  them  flashing  over  the  fields  after  dark.  They 
call  them  lightning-bugs,  or  fireflies." 

"Oh,  fireflies!    Yes,  I've  read  of  them." 

"Well,  they  surely  do  make  a  fellow  sit  up  and 
take  notice.  But — a  palm-tree.  Why,  a  palm-tree 
is  just  a  palm-tree,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
But,  a  firefly;  that's  a  phenom." 

Crane  nodded,  and  thought  to  himself,  "He 
seems  a  harmless  sort  of  a  fellow,  with  his  chatter 
about  clover-fields  and  fireflies." 

So  they  went,  walking  and  talking,  until  they 
came  to  the  Gap.  They  had  climbed  six  hundred 
feet  since  leaving  the  machine,  but  the  ascent  had 
been  so  gradual  that  only  in  the  last  half  mile  had 
it  been  noticeable.  Now  they  looked  down  a 
broad  valley  to  the  distant  sea. 

What  a  contrast  the  view  presented  to  the  one 
they  had  had  that  morning  from  the  Pali.  It's 
true  they  stood  at  the  top  of  a  declivity  so  steep 
that  the  impression  was  that  of  being  on  the 
brink  of  a  tremendous  precipice,  but  there  the 
analogy  ceased.     Whereas  the  eastern  side  of  the 


r 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  77 

island,  which  they  had  overlooked  from  the  Pali, 
behind  Honolulu,  was  rendered  brilliant  by  tropical 
vegetation,  the  plain  being  covered  with  green, 
while  the  great  perpendicular  cliffs  were  matted 
with  trailing  vines  or  groves  of  kukui  trees, 
clustering  at  their  feet,  or  following  up  the  ravines 
which  channeled  them;  here  the  vegetation  was 
that  of  the  desert.  The  hills  were  great  piles  of 
dark  volcanic  rock,  supporting,  if  they  supported 
anything,  only  the  stunted  latana  or  the  prickly 
cactus,  which  blended  with  their  environment  so 
as  to  produce  at  a  distance  the  effect  of  no 
vegetation  at  all. 

It  is  true  that  a  large  portion  of  the  plain  had 
been  reclaimed  from  its  natural  condition,  and  by 
artificial  means,  by  irrigation,  had  been  turned 
into  riotous  fields  of  sugar-cane.  But  the  cane-fields, 
although  they  covered  square  miles,  only  showed 
as  a  bright  patch  on  the  valley  floor.  On  either 
hand  rose  great  walls  of  black  rock,  dreary, 
forbidding,  and  utterly  desolate.  When  this  old 
world  shall  approach  its  last  day:  when  its  ability 
to  support  life  shall  have  almost'  ceased;  when 
the  sun  shall  have  dwindled  to  a  brilliant  star, 
then  will  such  scenes  of  desolation  and  despair 
be  common,  but  not  before.  If  the  view  from  the 
Pali,  behind  Honolulu,  might  be  described  as  a 
"dream,"  that  from  the  Gap  should  be  described 
as  a  "nightmare." 

With  some  such  sentiments  as  these,  Crane 
contemplated  the  landscape.  Presently  they 
started  to  descend  into  the  valley.  The  trail  ran 
in   zig-zag   fashion.      Here,   under   the   shadow   of 


78  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  cliff,  the  ground  was  not  so  desolate  as 
elsewhere.    Tall  ferns  were  waving  by  the  wayside. 

A  snowy  tropic-bird  fluttered  overhead,  its 
scarlet  beak  and  two  long  scarlet  feathers  showing 
in  vivid  contrast  with  its  white  plumage. 

As  they  went,  Carding  was  racking  his  wits  for 
a  plan  to  set  Crane  talking. 

"So  far,  I  have  been  doing  all  the  talking 
myself,"  he  thought.  "Oh,  he's  a  clam.  But  why 
not  arrange  it  so  that  we  stop  over  for  the  night 
at  the  plantation.  Only  give  me  time,  and  I'll 
get  him  started,"  and  he  began  to  delay  from  time 
to  time,  to  point  out  one  object  of  interest  after 
another.  Presently  they  were  traversing  the  valley- 
floor.  The  road  began  to  run  between  fields  of 
cane.  Carding  indicated  the  different  camps,  where 
the  laborers  were  segregated  by  races — the  Chinese 
camp,  the  Japanese  camp,  the  Portuguese  camp, 
the  Korean  camp,  each  camp  a  village  of  white- 
washed cottages.  He  indicated  the  mill  where  the 
cane  was  ground,  and  the  pumping  station  which 
pumped  artesian  water  to  irrigate  the  fields.  And 
he  never  failed  to  give  his  companion  an 
opportunity  to  express  his  opinions. 

But  sugar  cultivation  was  a  novelty  to  Crane, 
in  spite  of  his  visit  to  the  W  plantation.  Very 
unfamiliar  with  its  practical  side,  he  was  eager  to 
ask  questions,  and  to  learn,  rather  than  to  express 
opinions.  And  when  they  arrived  at  the  end  of 
the  valley,  and  entered  the  little  station  to  learn 
that  the  last  train  had  gone,  he  was  delighted  to 
fall  in  with  Carding's  suggestion  that  they  stop 
over  for  a  day. 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  79 

"I'm  acquainted  with  one  of  the  engineers," 
Carding  explained.  "I'm  sure  he'll  take  us  in  for 
the  night." 

The  engineer  was  a  sociable  soul,  delighted  to 
entertain  visitors  who  had  come  so  recently  from 
the  mainland. 

"It's  five  years  since  I've  been  there,"  he 
explained,  and  he  was  eager  to  hear  all  that  they 
told  of  California. 

It  was  fascinating  for  Crane  to  find  himself 
suddenly  put  in  complete  touch  with  the  isolated 
life  of  a  plantation.  As  he  listened  to  the  engineer's 
naive  questions  regarding  the  outside  world,  he 
began  to  share  his  point  of  view.  The  singularity 
and  seclusion  of  the  place,  its  exotic  tone,  struck 
him  with  all  their  force.  There  they  were,  in  a 
remote  valley  of  a  volcanic  island,  surrounded  by 
deep  fields  of  cane,  while  thousands  of  miles  of 
ocean  lay  between  that  island  and  the  outer  world. 

All  next  morning  they  drifted  over  the 
plantation,  and  as  they  went  Crane  began  to  talk 
freely.  His  companion  proved  invaluable  as  a 
guide,  so  that  a  spirit  of  companionship  began  to 
grow  between  them. 

"You  spoke  about  feeling  seedy,  Mr.  Carding," 
he  said.  "Well,  I've  been  feeling  seedy  for  the 
past  six  months,  but  business  tied  me  down. 
However,  I  broke  the  strings  at  last,  and  came 
for  this  voyage.  I  tell  you,  it  has  been  just  the 
thing  for  me.  The  ocean  and  the  island  between 
them,  with  their  change  of  air  and  scenes,  are 
making  me  feel  like  a  boy  once  more.  My 
experience  has  not  been  like  that  of  the  man  who 


80  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

spent  his  vacation  at  Santa  Catalina,  and  came 
home,  saying,  *I  went  to  Catalina  for  change  and 
rest,  but  the  hotel  keepers  got  most  of  my  change, 
and  the  waiters  got  the  rest." 

Carding  simulated  intense  appreciation  of  the 
joke,  and  then  ventured, 

"If  the  island  suits  you  so  well,  and  sugar 
culture  interests  you  so  much,  why  not  settle  here 
and  become  a  sugar-planter?" 

"'I'm  afraid  the  returns  from  the  business  are 
too  slow,"  answered  Crane,  and  then  he  went  on, 
"I  know  something  about  it,  for  I  already  have  a 
little  money  invested  in  a  plantation,." 

"He's  talking  at  last,"  thought  Carding,  but  he 
preserved  a  tactful  silence  while  Crane  continued, 

"Ten  years  ago  I  bought  a  little  stock  in  the 
X  Sugar  Company,  and  I  have  not  received  a 
dividend  from  it  so  far." 

"That's  a  shame!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  see,  the  profits  are 
being  spent  in  development  work;  buying  and 
planting  additional  land.  When  that  work  comes 
to  its  natural  conclusion,  the  dividends  will  be 
something  enormous.  What's  the  use  of  being 
dissatisfied  when  I  shall  get  ten  dollars  for  every 
dollar  I  don't  receive  now?" 

"But  I  understand  that  the  officers  of  the  X 
company  are  getting  rich,  just  the  same.  I  guess 
all  the  money  doesn't  go  into  development  work." 

"Oh,  so  long  as  they  are  making  a  success  of 
the  plantation,  it  wouldn't  do  to  grudge  them  their 
pay  and  expenses.  To  successfully  handle  a  big 
property,  is  not  easy.    They  deserve  all  they  get." 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  81 

Carding's  suspicions  of  Crane's  mission  were 
being  lulled  to  sleep. 

"The  fellow  knows  nothing  about  the  practical 
working  of  a  plantation,"  Carding  thought.  "And 
he  doesn't  understand  the  game  of  freeze-out  which 
is  being  played  on  him.    I  guess  he's  harmless." 

Further  conversation  only  confirmed  this  opinion, 
and  when  they  boarded  the  train.  Carding  decided 
that  he  had  done  enough  work  for  one  day. 

"I'll  amuse  myself  with  a  book,"  he  thought. 

He  inspected  the  train-boy's  stock  of  novels. 
"The  Doom  of  the  Demon  Band"  did  not  appeal 
to  him;  neither  did  "Dogged  in  Newfoundland.'* 
But  he  dipped  into  "Red  Men  and  Rubber."  The 
author  had  made  a  frantic  effort  to  write  a  "best- 
seller," with  a  result  which  was  more  frantic  than 
saleable,  but  a  sentence  caught  Carding's  eye — 
"Once  more  that  yelling  maddened  mob  of  people 
galloped  across  the  deck  for  life-preservers, 
grappled  with  each  other  to  get  at  the  boats,  and 
fell  pell-mell  in  kicking,  wriggling  heaps." 

"This  looks  pretty  good,"  and  he  bought  the 
book.  He  buried  his  nose  in  it  all  the  way  to 
Honolulu. 

They  had  taken  the  regular  afternoon  train, 
which  would  arrive  in  Honolulu  about  the  time  of 
sunset.  As  they  went.  Crane  looked  out  of  the 
window  with  eager  interest,  for  this  was  his  first 
experience  of  railway  travel  in  the  Hawaiian 
Islands.  He  was  traveling  through  territory  which 
previously  he  had  only  glimpsed  from  a  distance. 

High,  razor-backed  promontories  descended  to 
the  blue  sea,  leaving  only  a  narrow  shelf  where  the 


82  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

rails  might  run.  Between  those  promontories  were 
deep  rocky  valleys.  But  soon  the  hills  subsided 
to  the  plain.  They  descended  with  a  long  graceful 
slope,  broken  only  in  places  with  volcanic  cones. 
The  train  turned  eastward  towards  Pearl  Harbor. 

The  rails  ran  through  a  land  of  sugar-cane  and 
hemp.  Occasionally  they  passed  a  sugar-mill,  with 
its  white-washed  walls  and  high  black  stack  and 
its  villages  for  laborers,  the  cottages  standing  in 
long  white  rows.  At  one  point,  a  cane-field  was 
burning.  The  flames — which  even  under  the  full 
glare  of  the  tropical  sun,  showed  an  intense  and 
rosy  red — seemed  to  be  destroying  everything 
before  them.  Yet  all  they  did  was  to  burn  away 
the  leaves,  while  the  canes  remained  unharmed  for 
the  cutting. 

The  train  skirted  the  northern  end  of  Pearl 
Harbor,  and  turned  down  its  eastern  shore.  All 
along  the  margin  were  rice-fields,  flooded  with 
water,  and  dotted  with  the  young  plants. 
Farm-houses  with  their  shade-trees  rose  like  little 
islands  in  the  flood.  Farther  out,  on  the  salt  water 
of  the  Harbor,  the  white  sails  of  yachts  or  the 
white  sides  of  motor-launches  could  be  seen.  To 
eastward  the  long  slopes  of  the  hills  rose  high 
and  green,  crowned  with  a  great  white  roll  of 
clouds,  from  which  little  detached  clouds  floated 
to  speckle  the  blue  sky. 

Now  they  were  approaching  Honolulu.  Crane  sat 
on  the  landward  side  of  the  train,  and  watched  the 
hills.  Valley  after  valley  kept  opening  before  him, 
valleys  filled  with  tropical  verdure  and  affording 
vistas  that  stretched  to  the  heart  of  the  hills.    And 


MOTORING  IN  THE  TROPICS  83 

at  last  the  deepest  of  all  opened  out,  the  valley 
which  lay  directly  behind  the  harbor  of  Honolulu, 
and  he  saw  the  stupendous  V  at  its  upper  end, 
notching  the  mountains  to  their  core.  Above 
that  opening  there  hung  a  great  pearl-white  cloud, 
reflecting  all  the  brightness  of  the  western  sun. 
His  eye  dwelt  on  the  steep  walls  of  the  gorge, 
clothed  with  the  many  tints  of  the  tropical  forest, 
and  to  his  mind  came  the  voluptuous  lines  of 
Byron : 

"Where  the  tints  of  the  earth  and  the  hues  of  the  sky. 
In  color  though  varied,  in  beauty  may  vie. 
And  the  purple  of  Ocean  is  deepest  in  dye; 
Where  the  virgins  are  soft  as  the  roses  they  twine. 
And  all,  save  the  spirit  of  man,  is  divine." 


VII 

PLOTS    AND    COUNTERPLOTS 

THE  hotel  dining-room  made  a  brilliant  showing, 
for  it  was  vivid  with  flowers  and  sparkling 
with  lights  which  were  flashed  back  by  mirrors 
and  by  the  cut-glass  and  silver  on  the  damask- 
covered  tables.  Behind  one  of  the  French- 
plate  windows  Carding  was  seated  at  a  little 
table  which  was  covered  with  an  immaculate 
cloth  and  brightened  with  a  great  cluster  of 
crimson  poppies, — for  Honolulu  poppies  bloom  in 
April.     A  waiter  was  bringing  his  order. 

It  was  a  thick  and  juicy  steak,  done  to  a  turn. 
And  the  waiter  was  inquiring  whether  Carding 
would  have  a  cup  of  coffee  with  it.  "Coffee  grown 
in  the  Islands,  sir"  he  added.  He  mistook  the 
young  man  for  a  tourist. 

Carding  dismissed  the  suggestion  with  contempt. 
"Not  on  your  life,"  he  snapped.  "I  never  drink 
coffee,  and  if  I  did,  I  wouldn't  touch  the  poison 
they  grow  in  this  island.  Bring  me  beer,"  and 
then  he  added,  "Bring  imported  beer.  I  dont  want 
the  slop  they  brew  in  Honolulu." 

Half  a  dozen  tourists  at  the  next  table  were 
listening  with  interest.  Carding  had  raised  his 
voice  to  a  pitch  which  made  it  impossible  for 
them  not  to  hear. 

"A  nice  booster  for  the  Islands  is  that  fellow," 
the  waiter   commented  in   the  kitchen,   a   minute 


PLOTS   AND  COUNTERPLOTS  85 

later.  "He  says  Hawaiian  coffee  is  poison  and 
Hawaiian  beer  is  slop.  Well,  I'll  give  him  Japanese 
beer,  made  out  of  the  Lord  knows  what." 

But,  whatever  its  origin,  it  looked  well  with  its 
deep  golden-yellow  color,  as  Carding  poured  it 
slowly  and  carefully  so  as  to  cause  no  foam.  And 
the  steak  was  better  still.  It  was  thick  and  juicy, 
crisp  and  brown  outside,  pink  within  where 
Carding  cut  a  slice.  He  was  lifting  a  piece  to 
his  mouth  when  he  realized  that  someone  was 
staring  at  him  through  the  plate-glass  of  the 
window. 

The  man  who  was  peering  in  through  the  window, 
had  a  complexion  precisely  the  color  of  chocolate, 
for  he  was  a  Hawaiian.  Hawaiians  are  an 
improvident  race,  and  this  representative  was  a 
living  exemplification  of  improvidence.  His  coat 
was  full  of  holes;  so  were  his  shoes.  His  battered 
straw  hat  no  longer  had  a  crown.  It's  true  he 
did  not  "shiver  in  the  wintry  wind,"  for  the 
evening  air  was  deliciously  soft.  But  he  eyed 
Carding's  steak  with  a  wolfish  glare  that  told  of  a 
vacuum  beneath  his  belt. 

Carding  grinned;  "Here,  have  some,  old  man," 
holding  the  piece  of  steak  to  the  window,  within 
six  inches  of  the  Hawaiian's  mouth.  Then  he 
transferred  it  slowly  to  his  own,  chewing 
rapturously.  He  cut  off  other  pieces  in  rapid 
succession,  lifting  each  in  plain  view,  lingering 
an  instant  before  putting  it  in  his  mouth,  then 
chewing  with  every  evidence  of  gratification. 

"Have  a  drink,  old  man?"  he  asked,  and  he 
casually  lifted  a  great  goblet  of  the  golden  beer, 


86  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

held  it  so  that  the  light  might  play  upon  it  for  a 
minute,  then  slowly  tilted  it  towards  his  own  lips, 
and  drank  deeply. 

"Here's  some  for  you,"  and  he  held  the  empty 
glass  to  the  window. 

Oh,  how  the  Hawaiian  followed  the  fate  of  each 
juicy  bit  of  steak!  How  his  mouth  watered  as  he 
watched  the  beer 

Carding  grew  reflective. 

"It  reminds  me  of  what  professor  Burl  was 
saying  about  contrast  as  a  sharpener  of 
appreciation,"  he  thought.  "Here  I  am,  well 
dressed,  with  money  in  my  pocket,  in  a  comfortable 
dining-room,  and  eating  just  the  meal  I  want. 
And  I  can  enjoy  it  a  hundred  times  better  when 
I  see  that  mutt  outside,  envying  me  for  every 
mouthful  that  I  swallow.  I  doubt  if  ever  I  enjoyed 
a  meal  half  so  well,"  and  he  turned  to  tantalize 
the   Hawaiian   further. 

But  the  tourists  at  the  adjoining  table  had  been 
watching  this  combination  of  comedy  and  tragedy. 
One  of  them  had  called  a  waiter. 

"Here,  waiter,"  he  said  quietly,  "just  give  this 
quarter  to  that  poor  devil  that's  looking  in 
through  the  window."  When  Carding  turned  to 
continue  his  game,  he  was  only  in  time  to  see 
the  man  getting  the  money  and  scurrying  off  to 
spend  it. 

But  the  scowl  which  was  developing  on  his 
face,  gave  way  to  a  smile  of  welcome.  Frank 
Atten  was  passing.  Their  eyes  met.  Carding 
rose  eagerly  in  his  place,  and  beckoned,  at  the 
same  time  pointing  to  an  empty  chair  before  him. 


PLOTS   AND   COUNTERPLOTS  87 

Atten  hesitated  for  an  instant.  Then  he  nodded, 
and  turned  toward  the  entrance.  A  minute  later 
he  was  sitting  at  Carding's  table. 

"How  comes  it  you're  not  eating  dinner  at 
home?"  he  asked. 

"I  just  got  back  from  that  trip  this  evening/* 
Carding  answered,  "and  I  found  that  my  people 
had  accepted  an  invitation  to  go  out  to  dinner. 
They  were  gone,  and  I  had  to  come  down  town,  if 
I  wanted  anything  to  eat.  But  I*d  like  to  speak 
about  our  friend." 

"Is  this  a  good  place  to  talk?" 

"Would  it  make  any  difference  if  he  knew  we 
were  right  after  him?" 

"No;  I  guess  he's  the  one  who  needs  to  cover 
up  his  tracks;  not  we.  Well,  did  the  machines 
break  down?  You  say  you  only  got  back  this 
evening." 

"No  break-down.  We  left  the  party.  He  climbed 
out  while  we  were  in  the  pineapple  country,  and 
struck  out  through  the  Gap  for  the  west  coast. 
Of  course,  I  joined  him.  It  gave  me  just  the 
chance  I  wanted.  I  started  talking  about  any  old 
thing,  so  that  he  shouldn't  think  I  was  trying  to 
pump  him,  and  I  delayed  him  on  the  road  so  that 
he  would  miss  the  last  train  for  Honolulu.  Then 
we  stopped  overnight  at  the  plantation,  and  I  pried 
his  clam-shell  open  at  last.  But  I  think  he's 
harmless.  He  talked  as  though  he  were  perfectly 
satisfied  with  the  situation, — and  he  knows  nothing 
about  the  business  side  of  sugar.  When  I  suggested 
that  we  stop  over  at  the  plantation  to  see  its 
methods,  he  was  as  tickled  as  a  small  boy  with  a 


88  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

new  kite.  You  should  have  heard  some  of  the 
questions  he  asked,  while  they  were  showing  him 
around.'* 

"Yes.     Maybe  he's  green,  or  maybe  he's  deep." 

"Then  he  gave  the  best  imitation  of  a  green  man 
ever  I  saw." 

"But  what  excuse  did  he  give  for  leaving  the 
party  and  hiking  over  the  hills?  I  never  before 
heard  of  a  tourist  doing  anything  like  that." 

"Said  he  wanted  to  see  the  scenery.  Oh,  he  has 
scenery  on  the  brain — he  and  the  Burls,  between 
them.     I  think  he's  a  little  off." 

"Well,  it's  a  pretty  good  thing  for  the  Islands, 
John,  that  there  are  such  people  as  Crane  and  the 
Burls.  If  everyone  had  your  idea  about  Hawaiian 
scenery,  the  tourist  business  would  be  dead  in  a 
week.  However,  that's  aside  from  the  subject ;  let's 
get  back  to  business.  You  feel  pretty  certain 
Crane's  not  in  the  Islands  to  make  trouble?" 

"From  all  present  indications,  that's  the  way 
I  feel." 

"Well,  just  keep  an  eye  on  him,  in  a  general 
way,  so  that  you  know  what  he's  doing.  And 
meanwhile,  my  yard-boy's  keeping  tab  on  that 
bunch  of  Japs  who  are  waiting  for  orders  from  our 
California  friends.  I  pay  him  an  extra  dollar 
each  week,  and  he  interviews  them  every  day. 
They  think  he  hates  me.  Oh,  I  imagine  we  have 
the  situation  under  control,"  and  Frank  Atten 
pressed  a  broad  thumb  upon  the  table,  reducing 
an  imaginary  mosquito  to  tissue.  But  "there's 
many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip." 

While   this   conversation   was   going   on   in   the 


PLOTS   AND  COUNTERPLOTS  89 

dining-room,  Crane  and  lieutenant  Sherrill  were 
in  conference  in  Crane's  room,  on  the  fourth  floor. 
The  lieutenant  rested  in  a  rocking-chair,  his  long 
legs  stretched  out  before  him,  while  he  listened 
to  Crane's  explanations  and  questions.  The 
Californian  was  describing  how  he  had  occupied 
his  time  during  the  last  three  days. 

"I've  now  spent  five  days  in  studying  the  island," 
he  said  "And  I  feel  less  competent  to  go 
on  without  advice  than  I  did  the  day  I  landed." 

"The  island  doesn't  look  quite  so  small  as  it  did 
at  first,  even  if  it  is  only  thirty-five  miles  long?" 

"No,  sir,  it  does  not,  and  it  certainly  is  tremen- 
dously complex.  But  the  more  I  see  of  it,  the 
more  it  fascinates  me.  You  have  a  magnificent 
island  here,  lieutenant,  and  I  envy  you  for  being 
permanently  located  in  it.  In  fact,  if  my  plans  go 
through  successfully,  I  should  like  to  locate  here 
myself." 

"But,  at  present,  do  you  think  you  know  the 
island  well  enough  for  your  purpose?" 

"Not  quite.  Just  a  little  more  'study  of  local 
conditions.'  Let  me  explain  what  I  have  in  mind 
for   to-morrow.     I'd   like   your   advice." 

"Good!     Go  ahead." 

"So  far,  I've  been  looking  at  the  island  from 
below.  Now,  I  want  to  look  at  it  from  above. 
I  want  to  climb  a  mountain;  one  which  is  centrally 
situated,  and  which  will  give  me  a  bird's-eye  view 
down  into  a  number  of  valleys.  I'm  interested  in 
valleys — no  matter  why.  Of  course,  I  might  spend 
a  week  in  exploring  valley  after  valley.  But  in 
this  way  I  can  study  a  dozen  at  once  and  pick 


90  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  most  promising .  Now,  as  regards  the 
mountains,  I  have  had  my  eye  on  the  two  peaks 
which  overlook  the  Pali.  Is  there  a  trail  to  the 
top  of  either  one?" 

"There's  a  trail  to  the  top  of  each." 
"Fine!     And   which   would   you   advise   me   to 
ascend?" 

"Well,  the  one  on  the  southern  side  is  the  higher. 
In  fact,  it's  the  highest  peak  in  the  eastern  range. 
But — I  think  the  view  from  the  one  on  the 
northern  side  is  more  comprehensive.  The  peak 
is  more  central.  And  the  trail  is  not  so  long.  That's 
the  one  I  advise.  However,  let  me  warn  you  right 
here;  when  you  go,  take  a  rubber  coat  with  you. 
When  I  climbed  that  peak,  showers  nearly 
drowned  me.  It  may  be  clear  in  Honolulu,  and 
the  raiin  may  be  falling  at  the  rate  of  an  inch  an 
hour  up  there." 

"If  only  I  could  pick  a  day  when  it  doesn't  rain." 
"We  have  to  take  our  chances.  The  thing 
to  do,  is  to  start  early.  You  may  get  to  the  top 
before  the  rain  commences.  But  let  me  make  a 
suggestion.  We  have  a  number  of  aeroplanes  at 
the  Fort.  They  are  biplanes  of  the  latest  and 
safest  model.  We  staff  officers  have  been  learning 
to  drive  them,  and  they  call  me  pretty  expert. 
There  would  be  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  taking 
you  up  in  my  machine.  You  might  make  an 
ascent  with  me,  instead  of  climbing  the  hills." 

For  a  moment  the  offer  appealed  to  Crane  as 
most  tempting.  In  the  "Advertiser"  he  had  seen 
an  account  of  the  machines — "big  war-planes  of 
great     size     and     amazing     stability,     measuring 


PLOTS   AND   COUNTERPLOTS  91 

seventy  feet  from  tip  to  tip,  and  carrying  motors 
capable  of  developing  400  horse-power/*  But  he 
recollected  an  illustration  which  the  paper  had 
printed,  of  the  "examination  of  applicants  for 
enrollment  in  the  aviation  corps," — an  illustra- 
tion which  had  shown  the  applicant  strapped  in  a 
revolving  chair,  his  head  fastened  back.  The 
explanatory  paragraph  had  stated  that  the  chair 
was  revolved  swiftly  several  times,  when  the  man 
was  examined  for  vertigo, — required  to  find  the 
attending  physician's  finger,  if  he  could.  Obviously 
aeroplaning  was  a  strenuous  affair.  Crane  began 
to  make  excuses. 

"Of  course,  I'm  tremendously  obliged  to  you, 
lieutenant,"  he  said,  "but  I've  never  been  up  in 
one  of  those  things.  I  understand  that  a  green 
man,  on  his  first  trip,  finds  the  motion,  noise  and 
novelty  so  distracting  that  his  ideas  are  quite 
confused.     I  guess " 

"Come  to  think  of  it,  you're  quite  right,  Mr. 
Crane,"  the  officer  answered.  "Let's  get  back  to 
hill-climbing.  I  was  cautioning  you  against  the 
rain.  Next  point;  the  trail  is  bad  and  is  partly 
overgrown  with  brush.  If  you  want  to  save 
yourself,  take  some  Japs  with  you.  Arm  them 
with  cane-knives  or  hatchets  to  chop  brush.  Those 
fellows  can  chop  nearly  as  fast  as  they  can  walk. 

"Another  point;  if  you  want  to  get  to  the  top 
fresh  and  unwearied,  hire  two  Japs  to  carry  you 
in  a  mountain-chair.  The  chair  is  a  swinging  seat, 
hung  on  bamboo  poles.  You  sit  on  the  swinging 
seat,  the  Japs  take  the  poles  on  their  shoulders,  and 
carry  you  up  the  trail  at  a  dog-trot.  You  enjoy  the 


92  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

landscape  as  you  go,  instead  of  spending  your  time 
mopping  perspiration." 

"Good!  I'll  have  four  hatchetmen  and  two 
chairmen.  One  more  question,  lieutenant;  where 
shall  I  hire  the  men?" 

"Oh,  there  are  a  number  of  Japanese  employ- 
ment agencies.  But  I  thought  you  spoke  of  a 
crew  of  Japanese  wfio  are  waiting  for  you.'* 

"So  I  did;  but  I  don't  want  to  communicate  with 
those  men  at  present." 

"Have  you  a  suspicion  you're  being  watched?" 

"I  have.    If  I  see  them  now,  I^ " 

"Might  give  the  whole  game  away." 

"But  if  I  continue  to  pose  as  a  green  and 
eccentric  tourist, " 

"With  a  tremendous  appetite  for  Hawaiian 
scenery, " 

"I  stand  a  chance  to  turn  suspicion  away  from 
me  altogether.  For  this  trip  I  had  better  hire  men 
from  an  agency." 

"Then  you'll  find  some  good  offices  on 
Beretania  street,  north  of  Fort.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  them  individually,  but  all  are 
reliable.  And  in  engaging  men  you'll  need  to 
tell  them  the  name  of  the  peak  you  want  to  climb. 
It's  a  native  name,  of  course.  I'll  give  to  you 
in  writing."   Which  the  lieutenant  proceeded  to  do. 

"You  seem  to  be  going  into  this  business  in  a 
most  systematic  manner,  Mr.  Crane,"  he  added. 

"You  know  what  Marcus  Aurelius  said," 
answered  Crane.  "  'Let  nothing  be  done  rashly 
and  at  random,  but  all  things  according ' " 

"  To  the  most  exact  and  perfect  rules  of  art.' 


PLOTS   AND   COUNTERPLOTS  93 

Which  reminds  me  to  inquire  whether  you  have 
decided  on  a  definite  program  in  this  business." 

"I  have,  and  I  can  put  it  very  briefly.  IVe 
known  from  the  first  there  was  no  use  in  trying 
to  handle  the  case  here  in  Honolulu.  But,  you 
know,  there  are  many  points  in  this  island  that 
are  seldom  visited.  As  soon  as  I've  picked  a 
definite  place,  I'll  induce  the  men  we're  after  to 
visit  it — no  matter  how — I  don't  want  to  draw 
you  into  this  too  far.  Then,  with  the  help  of  this 
crew  of  Japanese  who  are  waiting  for  me,  I  shall 
proceed  to  persuade  them  by  methods  I  have 
called  *a  little  novel'.  Once  they're  cornered  and 
scared,  they'll  soon  see  the  error  of  their  waysj 
or  we'll  hold  them  till  they  do.  The  whole 
business  will  amount  to  no  more  than  a  huge 
practical  joke,  but  it  will  bring  the  results  we 
want.  As  soon  as  I've  picked  a  suitable  spot, 
action  begins." 

"You'll  fight  fire  with  fire?" 

"Yes.  In  dealing  with  men  of  a  certain  stamp, 
legal  measures  frequently  fail.  I  am  sorry  to 
have  to  use  underhanded  methods,  but  we  are 
only  trying  to  get  what  belongs  to  us,  and  cir- 
cumstances compel  us  to  use  means  which  are 
a  little  novel." 

"Decidedly  novel,"  the  lieutenant  thought, 
as  he  rose,  but  he  only  nodded  and  said  "Good 
night." 

As  Sherrill  walked  down  the  street,  he  puffed 
a  meditative  cigar. 

"I  like  Crane.  He's  a  good  fellow,"  he  thought, 
"and  he's  tremendously  enthusiastic  over  this  plan. 


94  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

But  it  seems  quixotic  to  me.  His  plan  is 
one  that  looks  easy  on  paper,  but  only  on 
paper.  There  ought  to  be  some  way  of  settling 
the  matter  without  starting  a  guerilla  war.  I 
don't  want  to  see  Crane  get  into  trouble.  I  think 
I'll  have  a  talk  with  the  president  of  the  X 
Company,"  and  he  stepped  into  a  store,  where  he 
called  up  the  president's  home. 

"He  left  here  just  after  dinner,"  came  the 
answer.  "He  was  on  his  way  to  the  Cosmos  Club. 
I  think  you'll  find  him  there." 

"That's  only  around  the  corner,"  thought  Sherrill 
as  he  hung  up.     "I'll  have  that  talk  this  evening.'* 


VIII 

THE    PRESIDENT    OF    THE    COSMOS    CLUB 

AS  SHERRILL  approached  the  club,  he  saw  a 
heavy  limousine  waiting  at  the  curb.  With  its 
gray  hood,  gray  body  and  gray  tires,  it  seemed 
a  symphony  in  gray.  Sherrill  recognized  the  initials 
on  the  panel  as  those  of  the  president  of  the  X 
Sugar  Company. 

"He's  here,"  he  thought,  and  entered  the 
club-house. 

The  entrance  to  the  Cosmos  Club  of  Honolulu 
was  a  massive  granite  portal,  ponderous  with  doors 
of  polished  bronze,  for  the  club-house  stood  in  the 
down-town  district.  Its  ground-floor  was  occupied 
by  stores.  Within  the  short  hall  there  was  an 
elevator,  and  a  broad  marble  staircase  with  great 
brass  handrails  leading  to  the  second  floor. 

The  lounging-room  of  the  club  was  on  that  floor 
— a  glorious  room,  with  dark  panelled  walls  and 
deep  window-seats  and  windows  studded  with 
little  diamond  panes  that  had  a  golden-yellow  tint. 
Thick  curtains  draped  the  windows,  which  were 
only  open  sufficiently  to  allow  the  trade-wind  to 
circulate.  Even  at  noon  only  a  mellow  twilight 
filled  the  place — a  vague  light  showing  deep 
rocking-chairs  upholstered  in  leather,  and  gorgeous 
rugs  and  round  tables  where  stood  bouquets  of 
crimson  poppies.  The  tone  of  the  room  was  dark 
and  massive,  with  just  enough  color  from  windows 


96  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

and  flowers  and  rugs  and  a  few  oil-paintings  in 
gilded  frames,  to  relieve  the  rest.  An  air  of 
elegance  hung  over  everything. 

A  servant  conducted  Sherrill  to  a  seat  in  this 
room,  and  carried  his  card  to  the  president.  Yes, 
the  president  was  at  liberty.  Would  Mr.  Sherrill 
step  into  the  library? 

Within  the  club  library,  leaning  back  in  a  deep 
rocking-chair,  the  president  sat,  an  open  volume 
in  his  hand,  for  he  was  a  man  who  loved  reading. 
And  his  reading  was  of  a  substantial  type.  History 
was  his  favorite  field.  The  volume  engaging  his 
attention  that  evening  was  "Civilization  at  the 
Crossroads." 

He  was  president  of  the  Cosmos  Club,  as  well 
as  of  the  X  Sugar  Company.  An  elderly  man, 
his  hair  was  gray.  His  closely-cropped  side- 
whiskers  were  gray.  He  was  not  very  tall,  and 
was  comfortably  plump.  He  habitually  wore  a 
blue  serge  suit,  with  no  vest,  the  short  coat 
thrown  open.  His  appearance  recalled  so  vividly 
a  popular  cartoon  that  he  was  known  behind  his 
back  as  "Foxy  Grandpa." 

If  he  was  a  "malefactor  of  great  wealth,"  he 
looked  the  "wealth,"  but  not  the  "malefactor." 
His  expression  was  mild,  and  his  tone  in  conver- 
sation philosophical.  In  debate  he  would  have 
loved  to  produce  citations  to  prove  that  the  money 
which  had  been  given  to  Carding's  beggar,  had 
been  given  most  unwisely. 

He  could  afford  to  view  all  questions  philosoph- 
ically, for  he  was  well  satisfied  with  his  lot  in  life. 
The  world  had  treated  him  handsomely,  at  last. 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUB    97 

He  had  a  delightful  home  in  Honolulu's  most 
delightful  suburb.  He  had  a  peace-loving  family. 
His  motor-car  pleased  him.  Being  president  of 
the  Cosmos  Club  pleased  him  better.  In  short, 
his  home,  his  club,  his  automobile  and  his  books, 
provided  him  with  all  that  his  heart  desired.  When 
lieutenant  Sherrill  entered,  he  rose  with  a  most 
benevolent  air. 

Sherrill,  while  not  a  member  of  the  club,  had 
been  a  welcome  guest  on  many  occasions.  Although 
not  intimate  with  the  president,  he  felt  no  hesita- 
tion in  approaching  him. 

"Welcome  to  our  city,"  the  president  was  saying. 
"Have  a  chair,  Sherrill,"  and  he  indicated  a 
luxurious  rocker.  "And  will  you  have  a  cigar?" 
offering  his  cigar-case. 

The  lieutenant  mentally  discounted  the  effusive- 
ness, and  decided  to  get  down  to  business  at  once. 

"I'd  like  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  in  regard 
to  the  X  Sugar  Company,"  he  explained,  as  he  took 
the  rocker. 

"The  Sugar  Company?"  and  the  president's  tone 
was  politely  interrogative.  "I  believe  that  every- 
thing is  well  with  us." 

"Well,  I  want  to  explain  that  I  did  not  come 
here  to  give  offense,  or  to  be  unkind;  but,  if  every- 
thing is  prosperous,  why  not  declare  a  dividend?" 

"Simply  because  we  are  putting  all  of  the 
proceeds  into  development  work.  We  are  buying 
and  planting  additional  acreage.  But  when  that 
development  work  comes  to  its  natural  conclusion, 
just  think  what  a  magnificent  piece  of  property  we 
shall  have!    The  divid«5nds  you  don't  get  now,  will 


98  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

come  in,  multiplied  by  ten.  But,  if  you  are  pinched 
for  money,  lieutenant,  I  think  we  can  arrange  an 
advance.  The  day  for  dividends  is  bound  to  come 
soon." 

The  lieutenant  reflected,  "It's  no  use  telling  him 
that  he  is  trying  to  freeze  out  the  minority 
stockholders,  because  he  knows  that  already.  I'll 
try  him  on  humanitarian  grounds,"  and  he  recol- 
lected Crane's  argument. 

"No,  sir,"  he  answered.  "I  did  not  come  here 
with  any  personal  motive.  My  means  are  quite 
sufficient.  But,  in  California  there  are  two  hundred 
Americans  who  bought  the  company's  stock  when 
first  it  was  put  upon  the  market.  Their  money 
made  possible  the  launching  of  the  enterprise.  It 
seems  to  me  you  should  go  a  little  slower  with  the 
development  work,  setting  aside  a  certain  share  of 
the  proceeds  for  an  annual  dividend.  When  two 
hundred  hard-working  men  have  furnished  the 
capital  which  made  it  possible  to  carry  out  an 
enterprise,  don't  you  think  they  deserve  something 
more  in  return  than  an  opportunity  to  sell  out  for 
half  what  they  gave?  At  present  those  people  are 
excited  over  the  situation.  They  are  tremendously 
indignant.  Now,  if  you  will  change  the  policy  of 
the  company,  if  you  will  insist  upon  its  paying 
dividends,  you  will  be  the  hero  of  the  hour.  You 
will  earn  their  undying  gratitude." 

Here  was  a  topic  to  debate.  The  president 
became  philosophical,  at  once.  He  had  a  citation 
at  hand  from  the  volume  he  had  been  reading. 

"It  doesn't  pay  to  do  things  for  humanity,"  he 
announced.     "Consider  the  case  of  Alexander  the 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUB    99 

Great.  He  was  a  great  organizer.  He  planned  to 
make  the  world  over.  But  does  the  world  admire 
him?     I  don't  think  so." 

"Kindly  explain  what  Alexander  did  for 
humanity?" 

"To  do  that,  I  shall  have  to  show  you  first  what 
his  father  did,  for  Alexander  followed  in  the 
footsteps  of  his  father,  Philip.  Philip  unified 
Greece.  He  organized  it  under  one  stable  govern- 
ment. He  found  it  a  lot  of  petty  tribes  or  states, 
waging  petty  wars,  the  one  on  the  other.  He  put 
a  stop  to  all  that,  and  left  the  country  united  and 
peaceful." 

"Yes,  but  how  did  he  do  it?" 

"He  did  it  by  war,  of  course.  But,  granting  that 
some  men  were  killed  when  Philip  unified  Greece, 
the  number  was  insignificant  when  compared  with 
the  number  who  had  lost  their  lives  in  the  strife 
between  the  individual  Greek  states.  When  Philip 
had  finished  his  work,  a  Greek  could  go  to  sleep 
at  night,  sure  that  when  he  woke  up  in  the  morning 
he  would  find  a  roof  over  his  head.  Previously,  it 
had  been  doubtful  whether  even  the  head  would 
be  left  him. 

"I  say  that  Alexander  followed  in  his  father's 
footsteps,  for  he  undertook  to  unify  the  whole 
world,  Philip  had  been  a  retailer  in  the  business. 
Alexander  proposed  to  be  a  wholesaler.  Alexander's 
idea  was  that  no  longer  should  men  be  divided 
into  Greeks  and  barbarians,  but  that  all  men  should 
be  Greeks.  The  object  of  all  his  campaigns  was 
to  establish  Greek  civilization  and  Greek  culture 
— art,  science  and  literature — wherever  he  went." 


100  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"Alexander  the  Great  a  patron  of  science!"  the 
lieutenant  interrupted.  "That  sounds  like  describing 
an  Apache  chief  as  a  collector  of  Old  Masters." 

"Nevertheless,  the  records  show  it.  As  a  boy, 
Alexander  was  a  pupil  of  the  Greek  scientist, 
Aristotle.  Later,  when  king,  he  detailed  a  thousand 
men  throughout  Greece  and  Western  Asia  with 
instructions  to  follow  out  the  directions  of 
Aristotle  in  collecting  specimens  and  studying  the 
habits  of  fishes,  birds,  beasts  and  insects.  That 
has  a  civilized  sound,  hasn't  it?  And  after 
Alexander  had  made  himself  master  of  Egypt,  and 
had  founded  the  city  of  Alexandria,  he  built  a 
great  university  in  that  city,  to  propagate  Greek 
culture.  Professor  Euclid  was  selected  as  the  head 
of  the  department  of  mathematics.  And  professor 
Euclid  wrote  a  text-book  of  geometry,  which  has 
remained  the  model  for  works  of  that  sort  down 
to  the  present  day.  It  forms  the  foundation  of  all 
our  modern  texts. 

"Now  to  get  down  to  my  argument.  Do  we  find 
Alexander  held  up  to  admiration  as  a  patron  of 
art,  science  and  literature?  as  a  builder  of 
universities,  as  one  who  sought  to  make  culture 
world-wide?  Are  Euclid's  Elements  pointed  out  as 
a  monument  to  his  memory?  On  the  contrary, 
isn't  Alexander  commonly  mentioned  as  we  might 
mention  an  Apache  chief  on  the  war-path?  His 
ever-victorious  Greeks  are  regarded  as  no  better 
than  a  band  of  marauding  Indians.  The  story  of 
his  life  is  told  as  the  story  of  a  succession  of 
military  campaigns,  a  succession  of  raids  for 
plunder.    No  word  is  said  of  the  plan  and  purpose 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUF*  lOl 

behind  those  campaigns.  Or,  if  a  word  is  said, 
that  word  is  not  uttered  very  loudly." 

"Well,  I'd  rather  have  been  Alexander  the  Great, 
and  shoulder  his  bad  reputation,  than  have  been 
a  peculating  Macedonian  army-contractor." 

"Granted,  lieutenant  But  the  fact  remains  that 
Alexander's  reputation  with  the  general  public  is 
that  of  a  msn  who  fought  for  glory,  plunder  and 
power;  not  that  of  a  man  who  sought  to  advance 
civilization.  Try  to  get  anyone  to  take  the  broader 
view  and  you'll  have  an  uphill  task  before  you." 

"Very  true;  but  I  see  you  have  to  go  back  to 
ancient  history  for  your  arguments." 

"Well,  let's  come  down  to  modem  history. 
I'll  give  you  a  modern  instance,"  and  the  president 
laid  aside  "Civilization  at  the  Crossroads,"  and 
leaned  back  in  his  deep  leather  chair,  while  he 
puffed  out  a  great  aromatic  cloud,  and  let  his 
eyes  linger  on  a  graceful  cluster  of  pink  and 
crimson  poppies  filling  the  brass  jardiniere  on 
the  center-table. 

"Consider  Mr.  Harriman,"  he  continued.  "When 
Edward  H.  Harriman  took  over  the  Union  Pacific 
line,  the  'great  American  lemon,'  as  it  was  called, 
that  road  had  a  record  of  rottenness  and  failure 
hardly  equalled  in  the  annals  of  American  rail- 
roading. For  thirty  years  the  government  had 
been  trying  to  collect  the  debt  due  from  the  road. 
So  far,  not  a  cent  had  been  collected.  Under 
Harriman's  management,  that  debt  was  honestly 
paid,  principal  and  interest,  aggregating  forty-five 
millions  of  dollars.  Ten  years  later  he  had  the 
Union  Pacific  on  a  ten  per  cent  dividend  paying 


102  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

basis.  And  he  had  the  Southern  Pacific  paying 
dividends  for  the  first  time  in  its  history. 

"Now,  there  was  a  man  who  got  results  for  the 
shareholders.  In  all  the  vast  expenditures  of  his 
empire  of  railroads  the  charge  of  graft  was 
unknown.  Yet  Harriman's  financial  methods  were 
assailed  bitterly.  He  was  hardly  what  you  would 
call  a  popular  idol. 

"In  the  United  States  we  have  marble  monu- 
ments to  the  memory  of  men  who  led  a  few 
thousands  or  a  few  tens  of  thousands  of  men  in 
war.  But,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  grateful  public 
proposing  to  build  a  monument  to  the  memory  of 
Edward  H.  Harriman?  And  yet  he  commanded 
an  industrial  army  of  one  hunderd  and  fourteen 
thousand  men,  and  in  the  conduct  of  his  roads  he 
planned  and  pushed  through  projects  as  big  as 
the  building  of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt." 

"Then  you  would  suggest  that  the  Logan  statue 
in  Chicago,  representing  General  Logan  waving  a 
battle-flag  from  the  back  of  a  war-horse,  should 
be  replaced  with  a  marble  monument  of  Harriman 
on  the  driver's  seat  of  a  four-in-hand." 

"It's  easy  for  you  to  make  my  argument  sound 
absurd,  lieutenant.  Yet,  I've  seen  men  look  much 
more  ridiculous  on  the  hurricane-deck  of  a  cavalry 
skate  than  ever  they  did  on  that  of  a  four-in-hand." 

"Well,  we  need  not  be  acrimonious  about  it." 

"Very  true,  lieutenant.  But,  broadly  speaking, 
the  ingratitude  of  republics  is  proverbial,  which  is 
only  another  way  of  saying  that  the  public  is 
ungrateful.  E.  H.  Hariman  reconstructed  railway 
systems,  inspired  colossal  engineering  enterprises, 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUB  103 

left  magnificent  railways  where  he  had  found  the 
worst  in  the  United  States.  And  while  doing  all 
that,  he  saw  to  it  that  generous  dividends  were 
paid  to  the  stockholders.  He  was  just  the  sort 
of  a  man  you  would  like  me  to  be.  Yet  the  best 
name  the  public  had  for  him  was  ^undesirable 
citizen.'  I  tell  you,  it  doesn't  pay  to  do  things  for 
humanity,  lieutenant, — it  doesn't  pay,"  and  the 
president  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  with  an  air  of 
complete  finality. 

Sherrill  watched  him  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"Philosophy  is  a  great  friend  and  a  fine  thing 
when  you  are  master  of  the  situation,"  he  thought. 
"But  I  wonder  how  much  his  philosophy  would 
help  him  if  those  people  had  him  in  their  power. 
I  wonder  what  line  of  argument  he  will  follow  if 
Crane  starts  to  administer  that  'physical  suasion,' 
of  which  he  spoke." 

"Perhaps  it  doesn't  pay  in  the  way  you 
mention,"  the  lieutenant  said.  "Perhaps  people 
are  suspicious  of  their  friends  and  forgetful  of 
favors,  although  I  believe  that  a  great  deal  of  that 
sort  of  thing  is  due  to  sheer  misunderstanding.  But 
let  us  look  at  the  question  from  another  view- 
point. Harriman's  methods  certainly  paid  in 
dollars  and  cents.  He  himself  died  worth  seventy- 
one  millions.  And  his  railway  lines  were  wonder- 
fully prosperous.  The  more  money  that  was  spent 
in  building  them  up  and  in  paying  dividends  to 
stockholders,  the  greater  were  the  net  profits. 
Harriman's  business-sense  showed  itself  in  his 
ability  to  see  that,  in  order  to  make  money  out  of 


104  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

a  business,  you  must  put  money  into  that 
business." 

"Your  argument  is  partly  right  and  partly 
wrong,  lieutenant.  We  are  putting  money  into  the 
plantation,  all  the  time.  We  are  putting  in  all  of 
the  proceeds,  and  we  are  spending  that  money 
on  legitimate  expansion.  But  if  we  spent  the 
money  in  paying  dividends  which  need  not  be 
paid;  or  in  paying  higher  wages  to  laborers  who 
are  willing  to  work  for  less,  I  don't  see  how  that 
would  build  up  the  business." 

"Possibly,  if  laborers  were  treated  more  liberally, 
they  would  give  better  service." 

"I  can't  see  it.  That  sort  of  thing  is  being  tried 
on  this  island,  and  it  is  not  giving  results.  Why, 
on  the  Kahuku  plantation  the  laborers'  camp  is 
like  a  park.  Their  homes  are  like  those  of  old 
retainers  on  a  big  English  estate.  Yet  they  don't 
work  any  better  than  our  men. 

"For  another  instance,  look  at  the  W  plantation. 
There  the  quarters  were  rebuilt  completely,  using 
tongue  and  groove  instead  of  rough  siding.  The 
new  quarters  were  neatly  finished  and  dressed  on 
the  inside.  The  exteriors  were  painted  instead  of 
being  white- washed.  And  what  was  the  result? 
Why,  last  week  their  whole  Portuguese  camp  ran 
away.  One  hundred  men,  with  their  wives  and 
families,  left  the  plantation  in  the  height  of  the 
season.  There's  gratitude  for  you!  There's 
appreciation  for  you! 

"Now,  on  the  X  plantation,  we  pride  ourselves 
on  being  conservative.  Our  quarters  for  laborers 
are  long  lines  of  sheds  with  earthen  floors.     Some 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUB  105 

of  our  critics  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  our 
mules  have  better  quarters  than  our  men.  Perhaps, 
in  a  way,  they  have.  But,  consider  what  those 
people  were  used  to  before  they  came  here.  In 
Portugal,  mud  floors  are  the  rule  with  the  poorer 
people.  In  China,  mud  floors  are  found  in  the 
homes  of  many  who  are  comparatively  well-to-do. 
Why,  that  sort  of  thing  comes  natural  to  that 
sort  of  people.  They  can't  be  happy  without  it. 
Give  them  civilized  homes,  and  they  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  them." 

The  lieutenant  said  nothing.  Argument  with 
such  a  man  was  a  waste  of  breath. 

The  president  rose.  "Forget  it,  lieutenant,  forget 
it,"  he  said.  "Come  on  into  the  hall.  I  left  a 
friend  of  mine  in  there,  and  I  want  you  to  meet 
him." 

The  president  led  the  way  into  the  banquet-hall 
of  the  Cosmos  Club. 

It  was  the  "show  room"  of  the  club — its  special 
pride,  a  room  rich  with  decoration.  The  inlaid 
floor  was  half  hidden  by  a  great  red  carpet.  There 
were  lines  of  high-backed  chairs  upholstered  in 
red  velvet;  a  long  mahogany  table,  heavily  carved; 
walls  of  dark  teak-wood,  elaborately  panelled.  A 
musicians'  gallery  was  set  in  one  of  the  walls, 
behind  three  archways;  and  above  the  gallery  ran 
a  row  of  arched  casements  set  with  cathedral 
glass.  A  marble  fireplace  that  was  purely 
ornamental,  stood  behind  the  head  of  the  table.  It 
was  flanked  by  tall  pedestals  of  richly  carved 
ebony,  where  stood  great  porcelain  vases  of  quaint 


106  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Japanese  workmanship.  Above  the  mantel  there 
hung  a  superb  oil-painting. 

The  picture  glowed  with  all  the  gorgeousness 
of  the  torrid  zone.  A  brilliant  effect  of  palms 
and  ferns  and  sea  and  sky,  it  showed  the  shore  of 
a  tropical  island  where  palm  groves  waved  and 
ferns  covered  the  ground,  and  the  water,  sheltered 
by  a  coral  reef,  lay  without  a  ripple. 

It  was  a  sumptuous  picture,  and  it  harmonized 
with  its  setting,  for  all  the  interior  of  that  club- 
house told  of  affluence.  And  all  of  that  affluence 
came  from  sugar.  Every  bit  of  it  represented  the 
saccharine  sap  of  the  island,  squeezed  out  and 
transmuted  into  dollars. 

The  room,  just  then,  was  lit  only  by  a  single 
row  of  shaded  incandescents,  which  glowed  above 
the  oil-painting.  Before  the  picture,  and  almost 
lost  in  the  luxurious  depths  of  a  great  velvet 
chair,  professor   Burl  sat,  note-book  in  hand. 

He  caught  sight  of  Sherrill  on  the  instant,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet,  with  a  ready  greeting. 

"So  you  two  gentlemen  have  met  before,"  said 
the  president. 

"We  certainly  have,  and  on  more  than  one 
occasion,"  answered  Burl. 

"I  was  showing  professor  Burl  over  our  club- 
house, this  evening,"  the  president  explained,  "and 
he  was  so  interested  in  this  painting  that  he  asked 
permission  to  remain  here  for  a  while  to  make 
a  study  of  it;  permission  which  I  was  very  glad 
to  grant." 

"I  have  been  trying  to  write  a  metrical  descrip- 
tion of  the  scene  in  the  picture,"  said  Burl.     "I 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUB  107 

don't  know  how  well  I  have  succeeded.     If  you 

gentlemen  will  permit  me  to  read  you  the  lines, 

I  should  be  very  glad  to  get  your  criticisms." 

The  president  hesitated.     He  liked  poetry,  but 

he  doubted  Burl's  ability  to  produce  it.     Perhaps 

the  lines  would  be  more  ridiculous  than  sublime. 

Then  he  reflected  that  they  promised  a  diversion 

and  a  change  of  subject.     He  and  Sherrill  settled 

themselves  and  prepared  to  listen.     Burl  ran  over 

his  notes;  then  read  as  follows: — 

"The  foreground  showed  the  blue  sea  and  the  land. 
A  seashore  where  no  waves  beat  on  the  strand; 
Hedged  by  the  reef,  the  water  lay  like  glass, 
To  which  there  crept  deep  ferns,  a  tangled  mass 
Of  green,  while  rose  a  group  of  cocoa-palms. 
Lifting  against  the   sky  their  clustering  fronds. 
Half  clouded  and  half  clear,  the  sky  showed  bright; 
Its  clouds  were  glowing  with  the  sunrise  light, 
And  one  could  sense  the  fragrant  morning  air. 
The  sun  still  hung  behind  far  peaks;  some  bare 
And  rough,  upreared  their  dark  volcanic  rocks. 
High  up  they  rose,  stupendous  jagged  blocks. 
Elsewhere  the  slopes  were  clothed  in  emerald  green. 
Below  them  stood  a  town,  where  might  be  seen 
White  walls  and  spires,  just  peeping  into  view 
Between  the  tangled  tropic  trees  that  grew 
And   waved   above    the   margin   of   a   bay, 
Across  whose  smooth  expanse  there  stole  white  sails." 

"Well,  Mr.  Sherrill,  what  do  you  think  of  my 
lines?"  he  asked.  At  the  same  time,  he  handed 
Sherrill  the  notes. 

Sherrill  puzzled  over  the  paper,  tapping  it  while 
he  thought.  "You  seem  to  have  noted  all  the 
features  in  the  picture,  professor,"  he  answered. 
"You  have  them  all  here,  and  yet  there  seems  to 
be  something  missing.  Isn't  your  description 
lacking  in  warmth?  You  have  failed  to  sum  up 
the  impression  made  by  the  lustrous  blue  of  the 


108  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

water,  the  emerald  green  of  the  trees,  and  the 
freshness  of  the  morning  sky,  toward  which  those 
rough  volcanic  heights  thrust  themselves." 

**I  am  afraid  that  that  impression  would  be 
one  pretty  difficult  to  convey  perfectly,"  said 
the  professor.     And  Sherrill  agreed  with  him. 

The  president  was  fussing  with  a  note-book 
which  he  had  drawn  from  an  inner  pocket.  Now 
he  found  his  place. 

"Here  is  a  little  verse  which   is  a   favorite   of 

mine,"  he  announced,  and  he  read: — 

"Under  heavy  eyelids  lie 
Glowing  breadths  of  tropic  sky; 
A   cloud-like  incense  in   the  west; 
An  isle   upon   the   ocean's  breast; 
Long-crested  waves  that  haste  to  reach 
And  perish  on  a  snow-white  beach; 
A  shining  shallop,  trim  and  frail, 
Borne  down  upon  the  spicy  gale; 

Two  lovers  on  the  ocean  vast — 

Two  lovers  loving  well  at  last 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  sail." 

"Now  there's  a  verse  which,  to  my  mind 
breathes  the  very  spirit  of  the  tropics." 

"Who  was  the  author?"  asked  Burl. 

"Charles  Warren  Stoddard." 

All  three  men  rose.  They  descended  the  marble 
staircase  together.  Burl  and  the  president  entered 
the  limousine,  for  the  president  would  leave  the 
professor  at  his  hotel. 

For  a  minute  Sherill  remained  standing 
before  the  Cosmos  Club,  his  tall  figure  framed  in 
the  granite  portal.  He  watched  the  gray  car 
roll  away  and  its  red  light  wink  out  around 
a  comer.  He  thought  of  the  president's  complete 
self-sufficiency. 


THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COSMOS  CLUB  109 

"He  thinks  himself  quite  a  logician,"  Sherrill 
reflected.  "But  one  of  these  days  someone  will  meet 
him  with  a  stronger  argument  than  any  he  can 
produce.  Then  he'll  find  it  doesn't  pay  to  drive 
men  too  far.  At  present  he's  living  in  a  fool's 
paradise;  that's  it,  a  fool's  paradise." 


IX 

TO   THE   HILLS 

WHEN  Crane  left  the  hotel  next  morning, 
he  decided  to  start  at  once  for  Beretania 
street,  which  Sherrill  had  informed  him  was 
the  home  of  Japanese  employment  agencies. 

For  Honolulu  weather,  the  day  was  disagreeable. 
The  trade-wind  was  no  longer  a  delightful  spicy 
breeze,  just  strong  enough  to  keep  the  air  in 
circulation.  There  are  times  when  it  rises  to  a 
gale,  and  this  was  one  of  those  times.  High  up 
in  the  hills  the  wind  was  roaring  like  a  hurricane 
over  the  crest  of  the  range.  Especially  was  it 
pouring  through  the  great  V  of  the  Pali.  Up  there 
a  car  could  hardly  have  been  driven  against  it. 
It  came  flying  down  the  valley,  to  thrash  the 
palms  and  rattle  the  awnings  and  set  dust 
streaming  in  the  streets  of  the  city.  The  wind 
seemed  to  have  snatched  all  the  clouds  from  the 
hills,  to  scatter  them  broadcast  over  the  heavens. 
A  diffused  grayness  filled  the  sky.  It  was  no 
longer  a  deep  azure  dome,  contrasting  sharply 
with  great  white  cloud-billows.  But  to  Crane  the 
weather  seemed  nothing  abnormal,  for  he  com- 
pared it  with  the  bluster  of  a  summer  afternoon  in 
San  Francisco.     It  reminded  him  of  home. 

In  imagination  he  could  see  the  pedestrians 
coming  down  Market  street  in  San  Francisco,  with 
heads   bowed,   gripping   their  hats,   their   clothing 


TO  THE  HILLS  111 

flapping  and  billowing  about  them,  while  cyclonic 
eddies  in  the  afternoon  breeze  lifted  whirling 
columns  of  sand  and  rubbish  and  newspapers  to 
the  sky.  He  could  hear  the  howl  of  the  wind  as 
it  came  around  the  corner  of  the  Call  Building, 
while  canvas  signs  flapped  and  tugged  and 
struggled  to  break  loose  from  their  anchorings. 
In  fact,  as  Crane  clutched  his  hat,  he  almost  felt 
homesick. 

But  he  realized  that  the  weather  was  unpro- 
pitious  for  hill  climbing.  "I'd  have  my  head 
blown  off,  if  I  were  on  top  of  one  of  the  peaks  on 
such  a  day  as  this,"  he  thought.  He  decided  to 
spend  his  time  in  making  all  necessary  arrange- 
ments. Then,  if  the  next  morning  were  propitious, 
an  early  start  could  be  made. 

He  turned  into  Fort  St.,  where  he  walked  slowly, 
for  it  fascinated  him  to  study  the  cosmopolitan 
population.  The  crowd  represented  the  nationalities 
of  more  than  half  the  earth. 

Native  Hawaiians,  Chinese,  Japanese,  Koreans, 
Portuguese,  Russians,  Americans,  English,  Ger- 
mans; there  was  even  an  occasional  turbaned 
Hindoo.  Each  race  was  marked  by  its  manner. 
Crane  saw  crafty  Chinese,  slinking  along  in  their 
noiseless  slippers ;  cheeky  little  Japs,  fresh  from  the 
cane  fields;  death-like  Koreans,  with  their  pale 
yellow  faces;  great,  beefy,  brawny  Hawaiians, 
marching  slowly  and  stolidly;  swarthy  Portuguese, 
with  gold  rings  in  their  ears;  heavily  bearded 
Russians.     Each  had  its  own  racial  tone. 

A  group  of  flower-sellers,  with  their  gorgeous 
wares,  made  a  brilliant  dash  of  color.  They  seemed 


112  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

to  be  the  center  of  attraction  for  tourists.  As 
Crane  stopped  to  study  them,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
store  which  abruptly  recalled  Sherrill's  recom- 
mendation that  he  provide  himself  with  suitable 
protection  against  the  deluge  of  rain  which 
possibly  he  might  meet  on  the  hills. 

The  place  seemed  one  where  everything  and 
anything  wearable  was  retailed.  Crane  entered, 
and  had  no  trouble  in  providing  himself  with 
lubber  coat,  hat  and  boots.  Ordering  them  sent 
to  his  hotel,  he  continued  up  the  street. 

He  was  in  the  very  center  of  Honolulu's 
commercial  district.  As  he  went,  he  glanced  up  at 
the  street  signs,  wondering  whether  he  had  taken 
the  right  direction. 

"It  was  stupid  of  me,"  he  thought,  "to  leave 
the  hotel  without  my  map.  But  here's  an  officer. 
I'll  ask  him  for  Beretania  St." 

The  patrolman  whom  Crane  saw  was  a  full- 
blooded  Havzaiian.  He  was  about  six  feet  high, 
well  and  strongly  built,  except  that  he  was 
carrying  fifty  pounds  of  surplus  weight.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  dark  blue  tunic,  white  trousers,  and 
white  helmet.  On  the  whole  the  man  had  a  neat 
and  officer-like  air. 

"Of  course,  he  speaks  English,"  Crane  thought. 
"That's  the  official  lingo."  He  approached  the 
officer. 

"Is  this  the  right  direction  for  Beretania?"  asked 
Crane,   pointing  up  Fort  St. 

"Ugh?" 

"Is  Beretania  St.  that  way?" 

"Ugh?     Me  no  sabbee." 


TO  THE  HILLS  113 

Crane  tried  again  very  slowly. 

"I  want  Beretania  St." 

There  was  a  hopeless  look  of  vacuity  in  the 
man's  eyes,  as  he  shook  his  head.  Meanwhile,  a 
group  of  newsboys  had  gathered. 

"Sure,  mister,"  one  of  them  volunteered.  "Bere- 
tania street  one  block.  That  fellow  no  understand. 
Want  to  buy  Advertiser?" 

Crane  bought  a  paper,  wondering  how  that 
patrolman  came  to  be  retained  on  the  force. 

"Next  time  I  want  information,  I'll  ask  a 
newsboy,"  he  thought. 

The  next  crossing  was  Beretania.  Turning  to 
the   left,   he   was   in   the   city's    Oriental   quarter. 

A  sign  in  English  above  a  door — "Japanese 
Employment  Agency,"  caught  his  eye.  The  place 
occupied  a  small  frame  building.  Crane  studied 
it  with  the  same  curiosity  with  which  he  had 
watched  the  crowd. 

Huge  Japanese  characters  in  a  vertical  row, 
filled  a  larger  sign  by  the  side  of  the  door. 
Inside,  the  furniture  consisted  of  a  counter  and 
two  wooden  benches.  The  floor  was  covered  with 
matting.  Portraits  of  Japanese  military  command- 
ers were  tacked  to  the  walls.  Above  a  window 
two  sun-flags  drooped,  each  with  its  white  field 
and  blood-red  sun.  Three  or  four  Japanese 
obviously  of  the  laboring  class,  were  sitting  on 
the  benches.  Plain  as  the  room  was,  there  was 
a  subtle  fascination  in  it  which  gripped  the 
Californian.  The  spirit  of  the  Orient  seemed  to 
pervade  the  place. 

The  proprietor  stood  behind  the  counter.  Smiling 


114  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

broadly  and  bowing  low,  he  welcomed  Crane.  His 
English  vocabulary  was  not  a  large  one,  but  was 
more  satisfactory  than  that  of  the  policeman.  It 
was  sufficient  for  business  purposes. 

Crane  explained  his  wants;  four  men  with 
hatchets  to  chop  trail;  two  men  with  a  "mountain 
chair,"  and  he  produced  a  diagram  of  the  chair, 
which  he  had  drawn  painstakingly  to  scale,  show- 
ing the  bamboo  poles,  connected  by  a  cord,  and  in 
the  loop  of  the  cord  a  swinging  seat  with  a  foot- 
rest.  But  it  transpired  that  the  chair  was  a 
Japanese  invention.  One  glance  at  the  drawing  was 
enough  to  enlighten  the  proprietor.  "Yes,  he 
could  furnish  such  a  chair.  He  knew  just  where 
it  could  be  had."  But  he  balked  at  the  idea  of 
the  men  being  armed  with  hatchets.  He  suggested 
cane-knives,  and  a  cane-knife  was  produced  for 
Crane's  inspection. 

It  was  not  so  ferocious  as  Mrs.  Burl  had  stated, 
"nearly  as  long  as  her  arm,  and  as  broad  as  her 
hand,"  but  it  looked  sufficiently  formidable. 
Imagine  a  gigantic  butcher-knife,  with  a  blade 
eighteen  inches  long,  three  inches  wide,  and 
very  heavy.  With  such  a  weapon,  a  Japanese 
can  lop  off  at  a  single  blow  a  cane  three  or  four 
inches  in  diameter.  Crane  decided  that  cane- 
knives  would  do. 

Now  they  came  to  a  discussion  of  terms.  Crane 
would  have  to  buy  the  chair  outright,  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  he  only  wanted  it  for  a  day. 
However,  its  cost  was  trifling.  And  the  men  would 
be  furnished  at  two  dollars  per  man. 

"No,  sir."     Crane  knew  better  than  that.     One 


TO  THE  HILLS  115 

dollar  a  day  was  what  men  get  for  road-building, 
and  that  was  all  he  would  pay. 

The  proprietor  explained,  "Man  make  road,  man 
work  many  day,  one  dollar  all  right.  This  job, 
man  work  one  day,  man  work  very  hard,  climb 
hill,  carry  chair,  hill  very  high.    Want  two  dollar." 

There  seemed  to  be  some  justice  in  the  argu- 
ment. A  compromise  was  effected  on  a  one- 
dollar-and-a-half  basis.  The  men  and  the  chair 
would  be  at  the  agency  at  six  o'clock  that  evening 
for  inspection.  And  they  would  be  there  at  six 
o'clock  the  following  morning,  all  ready  for  a 
start  up  the  trail. 

Crane  was  leaving  the  office,  when  he  met  John 
Carding,  who  greeted  him  with  well  simulated 
surprise. 

"Why,  good  morning,  Mr.  Crane.  Are  you 
making  a  study  of  the  Japanese  population  of 
Honolulu?" 

"Only  incidentally.  I  have  been  engaging  some 
men  as  trail-cutters.  I  mean  to  do  a  little  hill- 
climbing." 

"Hill-climbing!  In  such  weather  as  this!  The 
wind  will  pick  you  up  and  blow  you  into  the 
Pacific  Ocean!" 

"Oh,  not  to-day.  But  to-morrow  I  shall  try  it." 

Carding  still  looked  his  disapproval. 

"Which  hill  are  you  thinking  of  climbing?"  he 
asked. 

Crane  pointed  out  the  peak. 

"Oh,  Lanihuli,"  said  Carding,  "I  climbed  it 
once.  There  were  a  dozen  of  us  in  the  party. 
Before  we  got  there,  the  rain  was  coming  down 


116  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

like  a  cloud-burst.  We  were  all  of  us  soaked  to 
the  skin." 

"I  mean  to  get  up  there  during  the  morning, 
before  any  showers  set  in." 

"Get  up  there  in  the  morning!!  Why,  the  trail 
is  so  overgrown  with  brush,  it  will  take  you  all 
day  to  fight  your  way  to  the  top." 

"Oh,  I  guess  not.  I  am  taking  four  men  to  clear 
the  way;  men  who  can  chop  brush  as  fast  as 
they  can  walk." 

"A  pack  of  lazy  Japs!  I  have  a  mental  photo- 
graph of  them  chopping  brush  as  fast  as  they  can 
walk!  Look  out  they  don't  get  you  up  there,  and 
then  hold  you  up  with  those  big  knives  of  theirs. 
You  may  never  get  back  to  tell  about  it." 

"You  are  a  most  encouraging  person." 

"Well,  wait  and  see." 

Crane  excused  himself  and  hurried  away. 

"Confound  the  fellow,  how  he  grates  on  my 
nerves,"  he  thought.  "I'll  dodge  him  next  time 
I  see  him." 

Next  morning  the  gale  had  blown  itself  out, 
and  had  left  the  sky  deliciously  fresh  and  clear. 
At  six  o'clock  Crane  was  at  the  agency.  So  were 
the  Japanese.  Crane  took  a  glance  at  his  map, 
marshalled  his  men,  and  led  them  to  the  foot  of 
the  hills. 

As  he  went  he  wondered  whether  he  shouldn't 
be  able  to  end,  or  nearly  end,  his  search  for  a 
"suitable  spot"  that  very  day.  He  was  beginning 
to  be  impatient  at  delay.  Yet  he  knew  the  need 
for  caution.  He  was  acutely  alive  to  the  fact 
that    the    least    slip    might    lead    him    into    some 


TO  THE  HILLS  117 

awkward  situation.  A  vague  feeling  that  he  was 
being  spied  upon  had  followed  him  continually. 
He  thought  of  the  previous  morning.  How  had 
Carding  happened  to  find  him?  Wherever  he 
went,  he  seemed  to  meet  that  ubiquitous  young 
man. 

Suppose  he  should  see  from  the  top  of  the  hills 
precisely  such  a  place  as  he  had  in  mind,  and 
should  seek  it  out,  only  to  find  Carding  there 
before  him.  For  a  moment  the  idea  was  almost 
unbearable.  Then  came  the  thought  that,  were 
Carding  actually  in  the  employ  of  the  officers  of 
the  X  Sugar  Company,  he  might  be  included  with 
his  employers,  as  one  of  the  prisoners.  He  might 
be  held  and  argued  with,  along  with  the  others. 

Unquestionably  that  would  be  the  solution  of 
the  problem.  Crane  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
hopefully  toward  the  top  of  the  hills.  He  now 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  trail.  He  reflected  that 
he  already  knew  the  island  in  broad  outline. 
To-day,  once  he  stood  at  the  summit,  he  might  be 
able  to  narrow  his  search  down  so  as  to  confine 
it  to  an  inspection  of  one  or  two  very  definite 
localities.  He  stopped  for  a  minute,  looking  up  in 
the  direction  which  he  must  follow. 

He  saw  a  great  triangular  block  of  green  earth, 
rising  at  a  slow  angle,  and  turning  its  broad, 
grassy  slope  toward  the  sea.  To  right  and  left 
it  was  cut  off  sharply  by  valleys.  For  perhaps 
two  miles  it  stretched  slowly  upward  and  onward. 
Then  it  was  joined  by  a  narrow  tree-covered  ridge, 
which  led  perhaps  four  miles  farther,  to  the  top  of 
the  peak  Crane  meant  to  climb.     To  ascend  the 


118  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

first  slope  would  be  child's  play.  But  to  follow  the 
trail  along  the  ridge  would  be  quite  another 
matter,  for  there  the  tropical  jungle  flourished,  a 
jungle  where  the  ascent  would  be  a  continual  fight 
with  brush.  But,  with  four  men  to  clear  the 
way.  Crane  felt  himself  master  of  the  situation. 

As  he  eyed  the  top  of  the  distant  peak,  his  soul 
expanded  with  an  exultant  thrill  of  freedom.  In 
imagination  he  saw  himself  on  the  heights,  over- 
looking the  whole  island.  Thus  far  in  his  journeys, 
he  had  been  compelled  to  spend  most  of  his  time 
crawling  along  the  shore  or  across  the  plains. 
He  had  had  a  worm's  eye  view  of  everything. 
To-day  he  should  have  the  viewpoint  of  an  eagle. 

The  weather  was  so  fine  that  he  glanced  half 
regretfully  at  the  package  of  rubber  clothing, 
which  was  carried  by  one  of  his  men,  and 
wondered  whether  he  had  been  wise  in  bringing  it. 

"I'll  probably  have  no  use  for  those  things,"  he 
thought.  He  was  wearing  a  white  duck  suit  and 
a  straw  hat. 

The  Japanese  were  in  the  working  clothes  which 
they  were  accustomed  to  wear  in  the  cane-fields. 
Their  shirts  and  trousers  were  of  blue  cotton. 
Their  boots  were  heavy  and  high.  They  had  no 
hats,  but  over  the  head  of  each  was  tied  a  red 
handkerchief. 

Crane  recollected  what  Sherrill  had  said  as  to 
the  advisability  of  reserving  his  energy  for  the 
top  of  the  peak.  He  motioned  to  the  men  that  he 
wished  to  enter  the  chair,  and  they  brought  it 
forward.  The  four  knife-men  started  slowly  up 
the  trail,  in  advance,  clearing  away  an  occasional 


TO  THE  HILLS  119 

guava-bush  as  they  went.  The  two  carriers  came 
close  behind  them.  Crane  balanced  himself  on 
the  swinging  seat,  resting  his  hands  on  the  poles. 

The  men  kept  up  a  continual  gabbling.  Crane 
listened  curiously  to  the  strange  harsh  language, 
every  word  clicked  out  by  the  tongue  between  the 
clenched  teeth. 

The  trail  ran  close  to  the  top  of  the  valley-wall. 
As  it  crept  higher  and  higher,  the  valley-floor 
opened  out  beneath  them,  so  that  they  overlooked 
its  checker-board  of  tiny  fields.  Smoke  from  the 
homes  hung  in  gray  patterns  over  the  ground.  The 
road  to  the  Pali  lay  like  a  white  ribbon  in  the 
center,  running  between  delightful  residences  with 
graceful  grounds  where  grew  great  shade-trees 
and  rows  of  royal  palms. 

Seen  from  below.  Crane  and  his  party  would 
have  looked  like  no  more  than  a  line  of  tiny 
specks  creeping  upward  along  the  edge  of  the 
valley-wall.  But  they  were  making  good  progress. 
An  hour  after  beginning  the  ascent,  they  stood  at 
the  top  of  the  grassy  slope,  more  than  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  valley-floor.  And  now  the  real 
work  of  the  climb  must  commence. 

Ten  minutes  were  taken  for  rest.  The  men 
improved  the  occasion  by  opening  the  package  of 
rubber  clothing,  and  tieing  the  different  articles 
to  the  bamboo  poles  of  Crane's  chair.  To  an 
accompaniment  of  jabbering,  they  produced  short 
lengths  of  cord,  with  which  coat,  hat  and 
boots  were  tied  to  the  poles.  Crane  watched  these 
preparations  with  amusement  mixed  with  satis- 
faction.     He    thought    they    looked    business-like. 


120  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

This  would  leave  all  four  knife-men  with  both 
hands  free  for  the  fight  with  brush. 

Once  more  the  chair  was  lifted  by  its  bearers. 
The  trail-cutters  plunged  into  the  trail.  Bushes 
and  branches  began  to  crash.  Crane  found  himself 
being  carried  slowly  through  the  jungle. 

Hacking  and  slashing  their  way  through  the 
jungle,  went  the  men.  Streams  of  perspiration 
dripped  down  their  faces,  but  they  showed  no 
signs  of  relaxing.  They  were  far  from  answering 
to  Carding's  description,  "a  pack  of  lazy  Japs." 
The  chair-bearers  followed  closely.  Crane  almost 
felt  ashamed  of  himself,  as  he  rested  in  the 
swinging  seat,  comparatively  cool  and  unwilted, 
waving  a  gaudy  Japanese  fan.  He  was  the  only 
idler. 

Now  the  tropical  growth  became  so  dense  that 
it  was  only  here  and  there  that  Crane  could  catch 
a  glimpse  between  the  trees,  of  the  valley  below 
him.  But  he  was  conscious  of  a  steady  upward 
progress,  and  by  nine  o'clock  the  party  was  at 
the  foot  of  a  final  ascent  of  two  hundred  or  three 
hundred  feet,  which  would  take  them  to  the  top 
of  the  peak.  Here  the  way  was  so  steep  that 
Crane  must  leave  the  chair  and  scramble  up  the 
trail  with  the  rest. 

Up— -up — up,  they  climbed.  And  now  the  summit 
was  less  than  a  hundred  yards  away,  while  the 
trail  had  ceased  to  rise.  It  lay  almost  level, 
turning  to  skirt  a  massive  rock  which  rose  to  bar 
the  path.  Treading  a  narrow  ledge.  Crane 
approached  a  grassy  platform,  a  dozen  feet  in 
width,  which  lay  at  the  very  top.     The  end  of  the 


TO  THE  HILLS  ^21 

trail  was  right  before  him.  A  few  more  steps, 
and  he  stood  at  the  giddy  end.  From  a  height 
of  more  than  half  a  mile  he  gazed  out  into  space. 
The  cliffs  descended  sheer  below. 

"Magnificent!  Yes,  that's  what  I  call  magnif- 
icent!" he  ejaculated,  as  the  view  burst  upon  him. 

What  a  panorama  of  peak  and  plain  and  preci- 
pice and  bright  blue  sea  was  spread  below.  This 
was  not  like  peering  down  into  some  great  chasm 
or  canyon,  some  mighty  crack  in  the  earth's  crust, 
which  narrows  as  it  deepens.  The  view  swept 
over  a  broad  green  plain  below,  and  over  a  broad 
blue  ocean  beyond,  out  and  away  to  where  the 
far  dim  circles  of  sea  and  sky  melted  together. 

And  in  all  of  that  picture  there  was  contrast 
and  color.  The  sky  with  its  white  clouds,  the  sea 
with  its  coral  reefs,  the  land  with  its  groves  and 
cultivation;  all  that  he  saw  told  of  warmth 
and  brightness  and  luxuriance. 

Considered  as  a  mountain,  the  elevation  was 
not  high.  But  the  isolation  of  the  place  made 
it  seem  many  times  higher.  It  was  as  though 
they  stood  at  the  top  of  a  mighty  monu- 
ment, rising  twenty-eight  hundred  feet  into  the 
air.  The  peak  was  a  great  block  of  volcanic  rock, 
buttressed  by  three  narrow  ridges.  One  of  them 
was  the  ridge  over  which  they  had  come.  The 
other  two  descended  to  right  and  left,  forming  the 
crest  of  the  range.  On  its  windward  side  the 
mountain  was  a  precipice,  while  it  showed  faces 
nearly  as  steep  to  the  valleys  lying  on  either  hand. 

The  stout  trunk  of  a  koa  tree  grew  on  the  edge 
of  the   precipice.     Crane   took   his   stand   beneath 


122  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

its  boughs.  He  fairly  exulted  as  he  stood  at  that 
lonely  point,  to  which  so  few  tourists  had 
ascended.  How  insignificant  seemed  the  Pali, 
lying  so  far  below!  Here  he  could  study  the 
island  as  from  an  aeroplane,  and  yet  have  the 
solid  earth  beneath  him  and  abundant  leisure  at 
his  command. 

The  weather  was  very  propitious.  The  wind 
was  soft.  The  clouds  were  not  heavy.  They 
did  not  settle  on  the  hills,  but  floated  above. 
Great  golden  shafts  of  sunshine  fell  between  them. 

Crane  had  boasted  that  he  would  learn  to 
"know  the  island  as  he  knew  the  pockets  in  his 
own  coat."  Well,  here  was  his  opportunity.  With 
his  field-glass  in  one  hand  and  his  map  in  the 
other,  he  stood  on  the  summit  of  the  peak,  explor- 
ing the  plains  and  valleys  below,  and  fixing  each 
feature  of  the  country  in  his  memory. 

And,  all  the  while,  he  must  keep  in  mind  the 
end  and  object  of  his  explorations.  Hill-climbing 
with  Crane  was  not  a  recreation ;  it  was  a  business, 
although  a  very  congenial  one.  While  he 
scrutinized  the  island,  he  passed  judgment  on 
each  locality  with  reference  to  its  suitability  to 
his  special  purpose.  And  as  he  considered  each 
place,  there  was  always  an  objection.  He  thought 
how  much  more  complex  the  problem  was  than 
it  would  seem  at  first  glance. 

"If  only  this  were  a  story,"  he  thought,  "how 
easily  everything  could  be  arranged,  and  what  a 
lot  of  work  I  could  save  myself.  There  would 
be  no  need  for  hill-climbing.  In  a  story,  I  should 
not  have  to  leave  the  city  of  Honolulu  to  find  a 


TO  THE  HILLS  123 

place  where  those  fellows  might  be  held.  In  a 
story,  I  need  not  be  troubled  by  curious  neighbors, 
unless  I  wished  it.  In  a  story,  I  could  arrange 
that  city  and  country  people  alike  would  be  totally 
devoid  of  all  inquisitiveness. 

"But,  in  real  life,  there  is  a  difference.  In 
real  life,  I  must  study  the  country  until  I  find  a 
place  where  there  are  no  neighbors;  where  no  one 
will  concern  himself  about  anything  which 
happens;  a  place  to  which  four  prominent  citizens 
can  be  taken,  and  where  they  can  be  held  indef- 
initely, without  anyone  asking  any  embarrassing 
questions." 

He  turned  his  glass  from  point  to  point,  and 
mentally  reviewed  the  merits  of  different  sections. 
In  the  northwest  he  saw  the  far  plateau,  bounded 
by  the  western  range.  He  swung  his  gaze  around 
to  the  southeast,  where  lay  the  W  plantation. 

"A  sugar  plantation  never  would  do,"  he 
thought,  "for  there  everyone  makes  it  a  point  to 
know  everyone  else's  business.  The  pineapple 
country  would  be  just  as  bad.  I  might  take  them 
to  Fishtail  Point.  It  is  sufficiently  secluded.  But 
I  should  have  to  construct  a  camp,  and  the  whole 
east  side  of  the  island  would  be  exercised  to  know 
what  I  was  about.  If  I  brought  them  up  here, 
and  built  a  camp,  a  party  of  high  school  boys,  out 
for  a  'hike,'  would  arrive." 

So  he  reviewed  the  situation.  The  broad 
accessible  areas,  the  coastal  plain  and  plateau 
were  dismissed.  No  chance  to  avoid  publicity 
there.  The  hills  were  inaccessible,  or  at  least 
inconvenient  of  access.  But  how  about  the  valleys? 


124  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

It  was  true  that  some  of  them  were  thickly 
settled.  But  others  contained  few  inhabitants,  or 
none.  Crane  directed  his  glasses  down  into  the 
valleys  north  of  Honolulu.  It  seemed  as  though 
some  of  them  were  very  quiet.  He  remembered 
what  he  had  been  told  of  illicit  distilleries,  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  the  hills. 

"Where  you  can  hide  a  distillery,  you  can  hide 
almost  anything,"  he  thought,  and  he  decided 
that  his  next  task  would  be  a  critical  investigation 
of  certain  valleys,  which  he  identified  and  noted 
on  his  map. 

So  the  morning  passed.  It  was  nearly  noon 
now.  Crane  and  his  men  had  brought  supplies 
of  sandwiches  in  their  pockets.  These  were 
brought  out  and  eaten.  After  the  lunch,  they 
stretched  themselves  on  the  deep  grass  beneath 
the  shade  of  the  kukui  tree  which  grew  at  one  side 
of  the  summit.  The  sun  soothed  them  into 
drowsiness.  What  mattered  it  if  they  indulged 
in  forty  winks  before  beginning  the  descent. 

Meanwhile,  the  clouds  were  steadily  thickening. 
Had  Crane  looked  to  windward,  he  would  have 
seen  a  rain  squall  on  the  ocean.  A  drop,  splashing 
on  his  face,  aroused  him. 

He  looked  across  the  Pali  and  saw  the  peak  on 
the  opposite  side,  shrouded  in  a  grey  mist.  To 
windward  he  saw  the  shore  blotted  out  by  rain. 
All  that  the  lieutenant  and  Carding  had  said  about 
tropical  downpours,  came  back  to  him. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  snatched  out 
his  knife  and  cut  the  cords  which  held  the  rubber 
clothing   to   the  poles.     In   a   twinkling   coat,   hat 


TO  THE  HILLS  125 

and  boots  were  on,  and  he  was  scrambling  down 
the  steep  rocky  trail  which  led  to  the  ridge  below, 
— the  ridge  over  which  they  had  come. 

The  men  were  still  more  eager.  While  Crane 
had  some  protection  against  the  weather,  they  had 
none.  They  were  the  more  anxious  to  escape  the 
storm,  because  their  experience  with  tropical 
showers  had  been  limited.  Their  work  had  been 
in  the  cane-fields,  where  the  rainfall  is  compara- 
tively light,  so  light  that  irrigation  is  necessary. 
They  rushed  toward  the  lower  levels. 

Just  as  they  gained  the  ridge,  they  looked  back 
to  see  a  gray  swirl  of  vapor  swing  over  the  peak 
they  had  left.  The  summit  was  blotted  out  in  an 
instant.    And  then  the  deluge  came  roaring  down. 

A  frightened  howl  rose  from  the  Japanese.  All 
broke  into  a  run.  Crane  and  his  men  dashed  down 
the  trail  together. 

The  abruptness  of  the  change  was  almost 
paralyzing.  Five  minutes  before  they  had  had 
the  blue  tropical  sky  above  them,  while  before 
them  the  tropical  sunlight  glowed  on  valleys  and 
hills  and  distant  harbor  and  wide-spreading  sweep 
of  ocean.  Then,  at  a  single  surge,  a  veil  was 
drawn  around  them.  The  blinding  shower 
wrapped  the  whole  party  in  its  gray  embrace. 
They  could  not  see  a  hundred  feet  away. 

The  wind  was  not  high,  but  the  rain  was  terrific. 
Crane  knew  that,  on  the  plateau,  rain  sometimes 
fell  at  the  rate  of  an  inch  an  hour.  Here  it  was 
raining  at  the  rate  of  two  inches  an  hour.  Running 
was  of  no  use.  In  an  instant  all  of  the  Japs  were 
soaked  to  the  skin,  while  Crane,  who  had  thought 


126  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

himself  secure  in  his  rubber  costume,  began  to 
feel  little  chilly  trickles  creeping  down  inside  his 
coat.  Along  the  trail  the  trees  streamed 
cataracts.  Liquid  diamonds  dashed  from  every 
leaf.  Every  little  depression  in  the  ground  stood 
as  full  of  water  as  it  could  hold.  Crane  sheltered 
his  note-book  in  an  inside  pocket,  but  his  map 
was  being  reduced  to  pulp. 

In  such  fashion,  groping  beneath  the  streaming 
trees  and  floundering  down  a  trail  in  which  a 
brook  was  running,  they  plodded  toward  the 
plain.  There  was  no  cessation  of  the  downpour, 
only  a  gradual  diminution.  The  rain  still  was 
falling  heavily  when  they  reached  the  streets  of 
Honolulu. 

And  there  was  John  Carding,  comfortably  dry 
beneath  an  expansive  umbrella.  An  expansive 
grin  overspread  his  narrow  face,  as  he  inquired, — 
"Well,  Mr.  Crane,  did  you  finish  your  hill-climbing 
before  the  rain  began?" 

Crane  passed  him  without  speaking. 

"A  few  more  days,"  he  thought,  "and  then " 


X 

THE   BUNGALOW 

CHANGE  renews  the  elasticity  of  the  mind  and 
sharpens  the  edge  of  the  will.  As  Crane  sat 
at  the  breakfast-table  the  following  morning, 
tuned  up  by  his  varied  experiences  of  the  last  few 
days,  with  their  continual  whirl  of  change  of 
scene  and  change  of  plan,  he  felt  equal  to  any 
enterprise.  His  mind  was  actively  at  work 
planning  a  program  for  the  day. 

To  find  a  secluded  spot,  where  a  camp  might  be 
constructed, — that  was  his  problem. 

Or — better  still — perhaps  he  could  find  a  secluded 
cottage,  which  might  be  rented.  No  promising 
possibility  should  be  overlooked. 

"To-day,"  he  thought,  "instead  of  exulting  on  the 
crest  of  the  hills,  I'll  explore  the  depths  of  the 
valleys,"  and  when  he  left  the  hotel  he  turned 
toward  a  car-line  which  would  take  him  to  the 
vicinity  he  had  marked  on  his  map  the  day  before. 

The  car  could  take  him  only  to  the  end  of  the 
plain  on  which  Honolulu  stands.  Residents  of 
that  city  know  that  Honolulu  stands  on  a  strip  of 
land  six  miles  long,  lying  between  the  hills  and 
the  sea.  On  the  south  this  plain  is  bounded  by 
the  great  extinct  crater  of  Diamond  Head.  There 
the  plain  is  two  miles  wide.  At  its  opposite 
end  it  has  narrowed  to  one  mile. 


128  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Of  course,  only  a  part  of  this  area  has  been 
built  upon.  The  bulk  of  the  city,  with  all  its 
crowded  Oriental  quarter,  is  near  the  harbor.  A 
long  avenue,  fringed  with  homes  stretches  for  four 
miles  in  the  direction  of  Diamond  Head.  The 
same  avenue  extends  northward  from  the  harbor, 
for  two  miles,  to  a  point  just  outside  the  city 
limits.     The  King  street  cars  traverse  this  avenue. 

Half  an  hour  after  leaving  his  hotel,  Crane  was 
at  the  northern  end  of  the  line. 

The  scene  was  very  rural.  A  wagon-road, 
rambling  between  rice-fields,  stretched  before  him. 
He  intended  to  follow  the  road  to  the  polo-ground, 
for  polo  is  no  longer  popular  in  Honolulu,  and 
Crane  had  marked  the  valley  containing  the  polo- 
field  as  "very  secluded." 

It  was  a  typical  country  road,  ascending  and 
descending  gently.  Crane  met  a  pair  of  Chinese 
who  were  bringing  a  wagon-load  of  ducks  to  town. 
In  a  field  he  saw  a  group  of  Chinese  water- 
buffaloes.  Presently  the  road  was  winding  along 
the  bank  of  a  stream. 

The  stream  ran  through  a  miniature  canyon, 
perhaps  a  hundred  feet  deep  and  a  hundred  yards 
wide.  The  vertical  walls  of  the  canyon  were  built 
of  distinct  layers  of  a  very  soft  yellowish  rock, 
which  Crane  could  break  between  his  hands.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  a  jungle  of  palms  and 
algeroba  trees.  Here  and  there  a  home  stood 
beneath  the  branches. 

Guided  by  his  map,  Crane  followed  the  road 
until  a  track  turned  off  toward  the  polo-field.  But 
he  hesitated  before  entering  the  valley.     Why  not 


THE  BUNGALOW  129 

get  a  better  notion  of  the  ground  over  which  he 
had  come?  He  turned  to  the  left,  and  climbed  a 
low  ridge. 

It  was  a  curious  picture  which  he  saw  from  the 
top  of  the  ridge.  At  least  it  seemed  curious  to  one 
unused  to  a  volcanic  country.  He  was  standing 
on  the  dividing  wall  between  two  wide  craters. 
Their  walls  were  comparatively  low,  rising  nowhere 
more  than  two  or  three  hundred  feet.  Their  rings 
enclosed  wide  areas. 

A  lake  lay  in  the  center  of  one  of  the  rings. 
Crane  knew  it  from  his  map  as  Salt  Lake  crater, 
so-called  because  the  brine  of  the  ocean  had  seeped 
into  the  central  space.  The  other  crater  lay  at 
a  higher  level,  with  all  its  area  covered  with  fields 
of  sugar-cane.  In  fact,  there  were  cane-fields  on 
the  margin  of  the  Salt  Lake,  rising  from  the 
water's  edge  to  cover  the  low  slopes  of  the  crater 
wall.  Every  available  foot  of  land  had  been 
utilized  for  sugar. 

The  sparkling  lake,  crisped  by  the  morning  air, 
the  green  fields  contrasting  with  the  dark  layers 
of  volcanic  rock  which  rose  rough  and  ragged, 
conspired  to  produce  an  effect  which  struck  Crane 
as  very  novel. 

From  where  he  stood  he  could  look  down  the 
canyon  up  which  he  had  come.  He  saw  that  it 
lay  squarely  between  the  foot  of  the  hills  and  the 
wall  of  one  of  the  craters.  He  saw  that  the  stream 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  polo-ground, 
turned  sharply  at  right  angles  into  the  canyon. 
The  explanation  burst  upon  him. 


130  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

The  craters  had  been  formed  late  in  the  history 
of  the  island,  by  outbursts  of  volcanic  mud, 
squeezed  up  through  the  reef.  The  mud,  flung 
against  the  edge  of  the  hills,  had  blocked  the 
entrance  to  the  valley,  where  a  lake  had  been 
formed,  which,  seeking  an  outlet,  eventually  over- 
flowed the  barrier.  Its  outlet  dug  the  canyon.  He 
understood  now  why  the  canyon  wall  was  of 
material  so  very  different  from  the  hard,  heavy 
rock  of  which  the  hills  were  made.  The  canyon 
wall  was  nothing  more  than  dried  mud,  hardened 
to  a  soft  rock. 

Crane  descended  to  the  road,  and  walked  toward 
the  polo-ground.  His  eye  followed  the  slope  of 
the  crater-wall.  He  could  see  where  the  volcanic 
mud  had  flowed  into  the  valley.  An  analogy 
would  have  been  a  porcelain  dish,  containing 
hardened  sealing  wax.  No  one,  seeing  such  a 
combination,  would  need  a  scientific  education  to 
enable  him  to  understand  that  the  dish  had  been 
made  first,  and  the  sealing  wax  had  been  poured 
into  it,  where  it  had  hardened.  It  was  just  as 
clear  that  the  volcanic  mud  had  rolled  into  the 
lower  end  of  the  valley. 

The  polo-ground  lay  where  the  bed  of  the  lake 
had  been.  Smooth  as  a  floor  it  lay,  covered  with 
close  turf.  On  either  side  rose  the  valley  walls, — 
great,  heavy  layers  of  volcanic  rock,  where  wave 
after  wave  of  white-hot  lava  had  rolled  down 
from  the  crest  of  the  hills,  to  cool  and  harden 
into  stone. 

All  of  which  was  interesting  enough  in  its  way. 
Exploration  fascinated  Crane.     Was  he  in  danger 


THE  BUNGALOW  131 

of  being  side-tracked?  of  becoming  "more  inter- 
ested in  making  a  study  of  local  conditions  than  in 
bearding  the  lion?"  He  had  not  set  out  to  look 
for  lava-flows. 

However,  he  set  his  face  resolutely  up  the 
valley,  following  a  well  marked  trail. 

But  as  he  went  he  saw  a  cocoa-palm  which 
grew  in  so  curious  a  fashion  that  it  tempted  him 
to  linger. 

It  is  unusual  to  find  a  cocoanut-palm  far  from  the 
shore,  but  here  was  one,  growing  in  the  valley. 
At  some  time,  not  very  recent,  it  had  been  blown 
down.  Its  roots  had  retained  a  grip  on  the  earth, 
and  the  tree  had  commenced  a  fresh  growth.  Now, 
half  its  length  lay  prone  on  the  ground,  while  the 
newer  half  rose  at  right  angles  beneath  the 
cluster  of  fronds.  The  tree  made  a  fantastic 
object.  Crane  studied  it  for  a  minute.  Beyond 
the  tree  he  saw  the  valley  wall,  rising  almost  as 
steeply  as  a  cliff.  As  his  eye  followed  the  ascent, 
Crane  caught  at  the  very  top  the  glint  of  the 
white  wall  of  a  bungalow. 

"An  odd  place  to  build,"  he  thought.  "I  wonder 
how  they  reach  it.  Not  from  here,  that's  certain." 

And  after  he  had  returned  to  the  highway,  and 
had  retraced  the  road  through  the  canyon,  and 
had  come  out  into  the  open  plain,  he  looked  up 
the  hill,  trying  to  catch  another  glimpse  of  the 
cottage. 

He  saw  it  now, — a  tiny  white  spot  on  the  crest 
of  a  ridge  which  rose  above  the  lower  slopes.  The 
hill  below  it  was  a  great  triangular  block  of  earth, 
rising    slowly    from    the    plain,    and    bordered    by 


132  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

deep  ravines.  The  entrance  to  one  of  the  ravines 
faced  Crane. 

"I  imagine  the  trail  runs  up  here,"  he  thought. 

The  more  he  studied  the  bungalow,  the  greater 
grew  his  curiosity  regarding  it. 

"It's  not  very  far — a  couple  of  miles,  I  guess," 
and  he  entered  the  ravine. 

The  place  was  rough,  dry  and  rocky.  Evidently, 
in  that  district,  the  higher  hills  absorbed'  the  bulk 
of  the  rainfall.  Down  here  the  vegetation  was  very 
scanty.  Beneath  a  stingy  growth  of  cactus  and 
lantana  the  slope  showed  as  piled-up  layers  of 
volcanic  rock.  The  path  was  only  a  rude  cattle- 
trail,  but  it  led  steadily  upward.  Soon  it  turned 
and  climbed  the  side  of  the  gorge,  leading  to  the 
face  of  the  open  slope.  Here  the  ground  was 
covered  with  deep,  rich  grass,  where  cattle  grazed. 
An  hour  after  Crane  had  left  the  plain,  he  stood 
at  the  apex  of  the  slope,  and  more  than  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

A  narrow  ridge  stretched  before  him,  with  a  trail 
following  the  crest  of  the  ridge.  The  foreground 
of  the  picture  was  filled  with  trees,  clothing 
the  narrow  ridge.  Perched  on  a  prominent 
point  half  a  mile  away,  stood  the  bungalow. 
Far  beyond  it  rose  the  main  crest  of  the  hills — 
a  group  of  five  triangular  peaks,  rising  like  five 
shark-teeth. 

Crane  had  no  doubt  that  this  trail  led  to  the  very 
summit.  He  knew  that  the  hills  contained  many 
old  trails,  made  by  the  primitive  Hawaiians,  and 
abandoned  long  ago.     But  this  trail  was  compara- 


THE  BUNGALOW  133 

tively  clear.  There  was  no  need  of  a  squad  of 
Japs  to  clear  the  way.  Crane  swung  over  the 
ground.  Within  ten  minutes  he  stood  before  the 
cottage. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life,  or  of  recent  occupancy. 
No  smoke  curled  from  the  chimney.  Crane 
walked  curiously  around  the  place.  It  seemed  as 
though  no  one  had  visited  it  in  years. 
The  figure  of  an  eagle,  carved  from  wood  and 
gilded,  rested  on  the  front  verandah.  It  looked  as 
though  it  had  been  intended  for  an  ornament,  to 
be  placed  on  the  gable.  But  the  plan  never  had 
been  carried  out.  The  gilding  was  peeling  from 
the  wood. 

Crane  ascended  the  verandah.  He  noted  a 
red  lantern,  a  great  ship*s  side-light,  which  was 
fastened  above  the  door.  Looking  in  at  a  window, 
he  saw  that  the  kitchen  was  fitted  up  like  a  ship's 
galley,  or  kitchen.  He  saw  a  marine  stove,  with 
racks  overhead  for  plates,  and  other  racks  from 
which  the  cups  and  glasses  dangled.  Instead  of 
flights  of  stairs  of  the  ordinary  sort,  there  were 
accomodation-ladders,  such  as  may  be  seen  on 
board  a  sailing-vessel.  Even  Crane,  unused  as  he 
was  to  the  ways  of  ships  and  the  sea,  began  to 
perceive  that  the  place  had  been  built  by  a 
nautical  man. 

He  drew  a  supply  of  sandwiches  from  his  pocket, 
and  prepared  to  enjoy  his  lunch  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  verandah.  While  he  ate,  the  decision 
crystallized  in  his  mind,  that  he  had  found  the 
very  place  for  which  he  had  been  hunting. 

First,  it  was  evident  that  the  cottage  had  been 


134  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

abandoned  long  since.  No  danger  of  an  owner 
materializing  at  an  awkward  moment.  Crane 
reasoned  out  how  the  place  came  to  be  there.  It 
must  have  been  that  some  nautical  man, 
some  ancient  mariner,  had  climbed  the  hill 
and  had  become  fascinated  by  the  outlooks  which 
it  afforded.  Whichever  way  one  looked,  the  view 
was  delightful,  whether  over  the  plain  below, 
or  up  to  the  crest  of  the  hills  behind,  or  down  into 
the  ravines  on  either  side.  Crane  glanced  down 
into  the  valley  from  which  he  had  first  caught 
sight  of  the  place.  He  gazed  over  the  deep  green 
of  the  grove  which  grew  below.  The  trees  clung 
to  the  steep  rocks,  twining  their  twigs  and  tendrils 
into  the  densest  tangle. 

And  the  ravine  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  place 
was  just  the  same, — filled  with  all  the  luxuriant 
verdure  of  a  tropical  valley.  What  a  contrast 
between  its  appearance  at  that  height,  and 
the  one  it  had  shown  lower  down,  where  Crane 
had  entered  it,  where  gaunt  ribs  of  rock  protruded 
through  the  scanty  vegetation. 

Yes,  some  ancient  mariner  had  had  this 
bungalow  constructed  so  that  he  might  be  able 
to  come  there  and  enjoy  the  scenery  to  his  heart's 
content,  when  he  was  so  minded.  Crane  thought 
of  the  enthusiasm  which  it  showed,  for  everything 
that  went  into  the  construction  of  that  building, 
every  stick  of  wood,  and  every  bit  of  furniture, 
must  have  been  carried  there,  on  men's  backs,  two- 
and-a-half  miles  up  a  rough  cattle  trail.  And  the 
trail  was  very  steep  in  places. 

"Carding,  old  man,"  he  thought,  "there  are  others 


THE  BUNGALOW  135 

beside  myself  and  Burl,  who  are  crazy  about  the 
island  scenery." 

Why,  this  place  would  be  a  hundred  times  better 
for  his  purpose  than  a  cottage  in  some  valley,  such 
as  he  had  dreamed  of  renting.  No  landlord  to 
come  spying  around  here!  Nor  was  this  the  sort 
of  place  to  which  idlers  would  be  attracted.  No 
one  was  likely  to  come,  scrambling  two-and-a-half 
miles  up  a  rough  cattle-trail,  very  steep  in  places, 
unless  he  had  very  urgent  business.  Here, 
by  the  aid  of  the  band  of  Japanese  who  were 
awaiting  him.  Crane  could  bring  his  four  "male- 
factors of  great  wealth."  Here  he  could  argue  with 
them  at  his  leisure.  Here  he  could  try  unlimited 
moral  suasion,  and  even  a  little  physical  suasion, 
should  the  event  require  it. 

The  more  Crane  studied  the  situation,  the 
more  enthusiastic  he  felt.  His  lunch  disposed  of, 
he  jumped  to  his  feet  to  reconnoiter  the  premises 
once  again. 

The  locks  on  the  doors  were  obviously  of  the 
most  simple  construction.  There  would  be  no 
difficulty  in  getting  a  bunch  of  old  keys  which 
would  open  them.  And  there  was  plenty  of  room 
behind  the  house  to  furnish  the  Japanese  with  space 
for  a  camp.  The  more  Crane  studied  the  place, 
the  better  it  pleased  him.  While  the  little  bungalow 
was  very  plain,  it  had  been  built  in  a  very  solid 
and  business-like  fashion.  It  evidently  was  well 
furnished  in  all  its  four  rooms.  It  was  well 
supplied  with  water,  which  came  from  the  roof, 
off  which  the  rain  ran  into  two  wooden  tanks. 


136  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"One  such  shower  as  I  saw  yesterday,"  thought 
Crane,  "would  fill  both  those  tanks." 

But  there  was  no  immediate  need  for  the  shower. 
Both  tanks  were  full.  Crane  tasted  the  pure  rain 
water,  mentally  comparing  it  with  city  water. 

"I'll  have  to  tighten  the  pincers  on  those  fellows, 
when  I  get  them  up  here,"  he  thought,  "or  they'll 
get  nothing  worse  than  a  pleasant  vacation." 

He  spent  a  little  time  in  exploring  the  trail  to 
the  higher  hills,  but  found  that,  beyond  the  house, 
it  was  desperately  overgrown.  He  returned  to  the 
verandah,  where  he  could  drink  in  the  view — 
Pearl  Harbor  and  the  western  hills,  glowing  in 
the  golden  Hawaiian  sunlight.  Then  he  thought  of 
the  man  who  had  built  the  cottage.  He  could 
imagine  the  seafarer,  back  from  far  voyagings, 
climbing  the  trail  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  this 
island  bungalow.  In  imagination  he  could  see  the 
old  fellow,  sitting  on  the  verandah  and  smoking 
the  pipe  of  peace,  while  gazing  out  at  the  very  view 
which  he  himself  was  beholding. 

And  it  was  a  fascinating  view.  Far  in  the  west 
the  declining  sun  gilded  the  edges  of  the  great 
masses  of  cloud  which  hovered  above  the  western 
range,  fifteen  and  twenty  miles  away.  The  flat, 
table-like  top  of  the  loftiest  summit  was  covered 
with  a  white  table-cloth  of  clouds.  Below  it 
the  broad  sweep  of  an  ancient  lava-flow  sloped  to 
the  plain.  Crane  thought  of  the  days  when  the 
white-hot  lava  had  streamed  down.  In  imagina- 
tion he  could  see  it  pour,  hissing  and  roaring,  into 
the  water,  until  the  ocean  boiled  and  bellowed, 
while  clouds  of  steam  rose  to  the  sky. 


THE  BUNGALOW  137 

His  gaze  fell  lower  still,  and  rested  on  a  more 
peaceful  scene,  on  the  broad  expanse  of  Pearl 
Harbor.  A  dozen  miles  away,  it  was  spread  out 
like  a  map  before  him,  lying  in  the  very  center 
of  the  plain,  gleaming  like  silver  in  the  afternoon 
light.  The  rays  of  the  sun  were  reflected  from 
the  water,  until  it  resembled  a  great,  burnished 
mirror.  Every  island  and  inlet  stood  out,  black 
and  distinct,  against  the  shining  surface.  There  the 
great  harbor  lay,  mapped  out  before  him,  divided 
by  its  peninsulas,  and  dotted  with  its  islands. 

His  gaze  fell  lower  still,  on  the  shining  green 
of  cane-fields,  and  on  the  great  circles  of  the 
craters  just  beyond  the  foot  of  the  hill.  At  the 
very  base  of  the  hill  lay  the  canyon  through  which 
he  had  come  that  morning.  From  this  height  it 
showed,  sharply  defined,  like  a  long  railway  cutting. 

"Whoever  planned  this  bungalow,  knew  what  he 
was  about,"  thought  Crane.  "What  a  glorious 
place  for  a  vacation.  And  how  different  from  a 
typical  Hawaiian  home,"  and  he  turned  his  glasses 
down  to  the  margin  of  Pearl  Harbor,  where  he 
could  see  Hawaiian  homes  standing  in  the  midst 
of  their  overflowed  rice-fields. 

His  eye  swept  the  far  ocean's  distant  rim;  then 
over  the  groves  of  palm  trees  growing  on  the 
shore;  over  the  plain  with  its  wealth  of  sugar  and 
tropical  products,  and  up  to  the  steep  volcanic 
heights  where  hung  the  trade-wind  clouds.  He 
quoted :  ' 

"Every  prospect   pleases, 
And  only  man  is  vile." 


138  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

He  glanced  once  again  at  the  bungalow.  Then 
he  started  down  the  trail. 

**We  are  ready  for  the  play  to  begin,"  he 
thought.  "It  will  have  the  blue  Pacific  ocean  for 
a  background,  the  whole  island  for  a  stage.  And 
in  the  cast  there  will  be  four  assorted  villains, — 
the  manager  and  officers  of  the  X  Sugar  Company." 


XI 

CHARLEY    DEANE 

CRANE  hurried  back  to  his  hotel,  where  he 
dined  alone,  and  reflected,  while  he  sat  at  the 
table,  on  the  next  move  he  should  make. 

There  were  two  things  must  be  done  at  once. 
First,  he  must  learn  who  was  the  owner  of  the 
bungalow.  He  must  make  sure  that  no  one  would 
be  likely  to  question  his  temporary  use  of  the 
place.  Also,  he  must  learn  the  date  and  place  of 
the  next  monthly  meeting  of  the  officers  of  the 
X  Sugar  Company,  for  he  planned  to  deal  with 
them  in  a  body,  not  one  by  one.  Nor  could 
he  see  any  chance  to  get  them  together,  without 
arousing  suspicion,  except  by  waiting  until  they 
held  a  meeting.  Of  course,  the  traditional  detective 
of  fiction  would  have  been  ready  with  a  simple 
expedient — a  plan  to  send  a  mysteriously  worded 
note  to  each  man,  requesting  him  to  be  at  the 
northern  end  of  the  King  car-line  at  eight  o'clock 
on  the  evening  of  that  day.  Equally  as  a  matter 
of  course,  all  would  have  come  as  requested,  when 
they  might  have  been  induced  to  visit  the 
bungalow.  But  the  methods  of  fiction  did  not 
commend  themselves  to  the  Californian. 

Next,  he  must  get  into  touch  with  the  Japanese. 
They  were  a  "gang"  who  had  been  employed  as 
cane-cutters  on  the  X  plantation.    All  cane-cutting 


140  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

is  paid  for  as  piece-work.  Through  a  clerical  error, 
this  particular  gang  had  been  defrauded  of  a 
day's  pay.  They  had  struck  promptly,  and  had 
returned  to  Honolulu,  where  they  had  tried  to  get, 
by  legal  means,  what  they  considered  their 
rights.  A  representative  of  the  minority  stock- 
holders had  become  interested  in  their  case,  and 
had  arranged  to  pay  their  living-expenses.  He 
had  returned  to  California,  but  an  agent  paid  the 
money  once  a  month.  It  would  be  through  him 
that  Crane  would  approach  the  Japanese. 

As  Crane  considered  the  case,  a  plan  came  to 
him  like  a  flash.  He  would  have  them  appear  in 
person  before  the  officers'  meeting.  They  would 
come  ostensibly  to  state  their  case.  He  himself 
would  be  waiting  outside,  with  a  limousine.  The 
manager  and  officers  would  be  "induced"  to  enter 
the  car,  when  they  might  be  whirled  away  to  the 
vicinity  of  the  polo-field,  from  which  they  could 
be  carried  to  the  bungalow. 

As  Crane  rehearsed  the  plan  in  his  mind,  its 
simplicity  and  effectiveness  struck  him  as  some- 
thing marvelous.  It  pleased  him  so  well  that  he 
almost  laughed  aloud.  And  even  a  pessimist  would 
admit  that  the  plan  possessed  possibilities.  But 
many  things  must  be  done  before  trying  to  carry 
it  out. 

One  thing  at  a  time.  Next  morning  he  visited 
the  office  of  the  Tax-Collector,  where  he 
inquired  concerning  the  bungalow.  An  obliging 
clerk  identified  it  on  a  map,  and  recollected  its 
ownership  at  once. 


CHARLEY  DEANE  141 

"That  place  was  built  some  years  ago  for  an 
American  sea-captain,"  he  explained.  "But  it 
hasn't  been  occupied  for  three  years,"  and  he 
copied  the  name  from  the  books.  "He's  the  master 
of  a  big  American  ship,  but  if  you  want  to  find 
him,  you'll  have  to  look  on  the  other  side  of  the 
world;  Australia,  I  believe." 

That  was  all  Crane  needed  to  know,  and  he 
hurried  to  a  telephone,  where  he  called  up 
lieutenant  Sherrill. 

"Can  you  find  out  for  me  when  the  officers  of 
the  X  Company  will  hold  their  next  meeting?"  he 
asked. 

"That  sounds  better,"  Sherrill  thought.  "He 
means  to  meet  them.  He'll  try  to  come  to  an 
understanding."     Then  he  answered, 

"I'll  see  the  treasurer  to-day,  and  I  shall  find 
out  the  time  and  place  from  him.  I'll  call  you  up 
this  evening,  and  let  you  know." 

The  treasurer  to  whom  Sherrill  referred,  was 
announced  on  his  visiting-cards  as  "Mr.  Charles 
Wellington  Deane;"  but  throughout  the  business 
and  social  circles  of  Honolulu  he  was  known  as 
"Charley"  Deane. 

Charley  Deane  was  no  new-comer  to  the  Islands. 
He  was  a  native  of  Honolulu,  and  so  was  his 
father  before  him,  for  his  grandfather,  the  Rev. 
Abner  Deane,  had  been  one  of  the  first  missionaries 
sent  out  from  New  England. 

The  Rev.  Abner  had  been  a  patient  toiler  in  the 
Lord's  vineyard,  where  he  had  found  the  grapes 
small  and  few.     His  son,  Abner  Deane,  Jr.,  had 


142  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

followed  in  the  same  path.  But  the  grandson, 
Charles  W.,  was  made  of  other  stuff.  At  twelve 
years  of  age  he  had  computed  that  "it  cost  ten 
thousand  dollars  to  Christianize  each  Kanaka,  and 
not  one  of  them  was  worth  having  after  they  got 
him."  He  decided  on  a  business-career,  and 
celebrated  his  twenty-first  birthday  by  becoming  a 
clerk  in  a  bank. 

For  the  next  ten  years  he  remained  a  clerk  in 
the  Merchants'  and  Planters'  Bank  of  Honolulu. 
Meanwhile,  it  had  been  discovered  that  immense 
bodies  of  artesian  water  underlay  the  island. 
Sugar-cane  was  being  planted  and  grown  by 
irrigation  where  no  one  had  been  able  to  grow 
anything  whatever.  Charley  Deane  woke  up  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  inherited  from  his  father  a 
thousand  acres  of  apparently  worthless  land, 
which  might  be  made  very  valuable.  The  Rev. 
Abner  had  bought  it  at  a  dollar  an  acre,  from  one 
of  his  parishioners,  at  a  time  when  no  one  else 
would  have  given  a  cent  an  acre.  His  son  had 
often  regretted  the  fact  that  he  had  not  inherited 
the  thousand  dollars  instead  of  the  land.  Now  he 
changed  his  mind.  Those  thousand  acres, 
together  with  a  tract  controlled  by  the  man  who 
became  president  of  the  company,  were  the 
commencement  of  the  X  sugar  plantation. 

Ten  years  had  elapsed  since  then.  Thanks  to 
the  revenues  of  the  plantation,  Deane  had  become 
an  officer  of  the  bank,  and  a  heavy  stockholder. 

The  bank  stood  at  the  intersection  of  two  of 
Honolulu's    principal   streets.      Its   walls   were   of 


CHARLEY  DEANE  143 

gray  volcanic  stone.  Through  wide  plate-glass 
windows,  only  a  few  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
pavement,  passers-by  might  look  into  the  outer 
offices,  where  a  staff  of  book-keepers  were  posting 
great  ledgers.  Deane,  as  an  officer  of  the  bank, 
occupied  an  inner  room. 

He  was  in  a  specially  amiable  frame  of  mind 
that  morning,  when  lieutenant  Sherrill's  name  was 
brought  in.  "Yes,  he  would  see  Mr.  Sherrill  at 
once." 

As  Sherrill  entered,  he  noted  the  sumptuous 
appointments  of  the  office — the  massive  furnishings 
and  tasteful  pictures.  Solid  and  dignified  and  radi- 
ating an  air  of  wealth,  the  appointments  were  ideal. 
The  place  had  a  tropical  tone,  for  the  furniture  was 
of  native  koa  wood,  splendidly  polished.  A  great 
bouquet  of  hibiscus  blossoms  stood  on  the  broad 
table.  On  the  wall  hung  an  oil-painting  showing 
an  ancient  Hawaiian  king  in  his  long  ceremonial 
robes — robes  woven  of  scarlet  feathers,  a  helmet 
of  golden  feathers  covering  his  head.  The  owner 
of  this  beautiful  room  sat  at  the  table. 

"Another  man  who  is  accumulating  a  private 
fortune  from  the  expense  account  of  the  X 
plantation,"   Sherrill   thought. 

He  had  a  much  lower  opinion  of  Deane  than  of 
the  president.  Mentally,  he  compared  Deane  to 
a  rat.  And  there  was  a  good  deal  in  the  treasurer's 
appearance — his  long  sharp  nose,  his  black  beady 
eyes,  and  his  black  hair  smoothly  plastered  down — 
which  suggested  the  rodent.  Sherrill  reflected  that 
a     rat     is     a     creature     which     will     rather     run 


144  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

than  fight.  He  decided  to  see  if  he  couldn't 
"throw  a  scare"  into  Charley  Deane. 

But  Deane  knew  nothing  of  Sherrill's  attitude. 
He  greeted  the  lieutenant  with  something  which 
he  intended  for  a  hearty  handclasp,  though  it 
seemed  very  limp  to  the  officer,  and  invited  him 
to  a  seat  in  a  wide  leather  chair. 

"Well,  Mr.  Sherrill,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 
Deane  inquired. 

"Nothing  for  me.  I  am  not  here  to  ask  favors 
for  myself.  I  come  as  one  of  the  minority  stock- 
holders in  the  X  Sugar  Company.  It  has  come  to 
my  knowledge  that  you  are  likely  to  get  into 
pretty  serious  trouble.  I  want  to  warn  you,  before 
it  is  too  late.'* 

"Indeed!     What's  the  trouble?" 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  the  California 
stockholders — two  hundred  of  them — have  per- 
fected an  organization  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
active  steps  to  protect  their  interests!" 

"Perhaps  I  do  know  it!  And  perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  I  was  one  of  the  defendants  in  a  case 
brought  three  months  ago,  by  those  very  parties. 
It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  the  case  ended  in 
a  sweeping  verdict  against  them." 

"Yes,  you  got  the  verdict,  and  you  also  came 
in  for  a  nice  bunch  of  criticism;  what  was  it  they 
said  of  you?  that  there  was  a  good  pickpocket  lost 
when  you  went  into  the  sugar  business?" 

"And  we  showed  that  there  would  be  a  good 
plantation  lost  if  we  changed  our  methods.  Do 
you  really  want  us  to  do  as  they  demand?  pay  out 
every  cent  of  the  proceeds  in  dividends,  as  fast  as 


CHARLEY  DEANE  145 

they  come  in?  set  aside  nothing  for  upkeep?  spend 
nothing  for  expansion?'* 

The  lieutenant  laughed,  not  very  pleasantly. 

"It  seems  to  me  IVe  heard  those  arguments 
before.  Upkeep  and  legitimate  expansion  are  all 
very  well.  But  five-thousand-dollar  autos  and  fifty- 
thousand-dollar  homes  for  the  officers  are  quite 
another  matter.  I  wonder  what  your  father  and 
grandfather  would  say  to  all  that,  were  they  alive 
to-day,  to  know  of  it?** 

"Why  don't  you  suggest  that  we  dispose  of  our 
private  property,  convert  it  into  cash,  and  turn 
all  of  our  'ill-gotten  gains*  over  to  the  California 
stockholders?'*  Deane  inquired.  "No  doubt  they 
would  be  delighted  to  get  the  cash.** 

"Not  a  bit  more  pleased  to  get  it  than  you  were 
pleased  to  get  their  cash,  when  you  were  selling 
the  stock,  ten  years  ago.  But  you  haven*t  answered 
my  question.** 

"My  father  and  grandfather  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case.** 

"That's  your  attitude.  You  realize  that  you 
are  sprung  from  missionary  stock.  But  you  have 
forgotten  the  missionaries.  They  were  your  fore- 
bears, it  is  true,  but  to-day  you  think  of  nothing 
but  the  money-game  you  are  playing.  Money  has 
become  your  god.  The  God  of  the  missionaries 
means  little  or  nothing  to  you." 

Deane  was  sitting  with  one  elbow  on  the  arm 
of  his  rocker.  Now  he  lifted  the  cigar  from  his 
lips  and  inclined  his  arm  forward,  twirling  a  long 
forefinger   in   Sherrill's   direction   as   he   answered, 


146  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"We  seem  to  be  drifting  away  from  the  subject, 
Mr.  Sherrill.  Suppose  you  come  out  frankly,  and 
tell  me  what  you  want  to  advise." 

"Well,  it's  like  this,  Mr.  Deane.  During  the 
last  six  or  seven  years  you  and  your  associates 
have  been  making  money.  You  may  not  have 
made  as  much  as  they  claim,  but  you  have 
established  yourselves  very  well.  You  own  hand- 
some homes  and  clubs  and  cars  and  yachts.  You 
have  the  prestige  of  success.  You  are  enjoying  all 
the  social  advantages  which  such  success  brings. 
Now,  why  not  be  satisfied  with  what  you've  got? 
Why  not  let  someone  else  have  a  look-in?" 

"It's  true  we've  made  a  little  money,"  Deane 
admitted,  "though  not  nearly  so  much  as  they  say. 
But  we  are  in  a  position  to  do  very  much  better, 
if  we  can  continue  our  present  policy  a  while 
longer." 

"There  you  go!"  the  lieutenant  exclaimed. 
"That's  the  trouble  with  you  and  your  associates. 
The  more  you  get,  the  more  you  want!  Never 
satisfied." 

"I  guess  it's  human  nature." 

"A  very  disagreeable  side  of  human  nature. 
But  let  me  repeat  what  I  said  before.  Your  present 
course,  if  persisted  in,  will  bring  you  a  lot  of  very 
unpleasant  notoriety;  so  unpleasant  that  you  will 
wish  you  had  changed  you  policy  in  time.  Just 
now,  there  is  time.  But  that  stage  is  passing.  You 
can  no  longer  shield  yourselves  behind  the  old 
arguments.  I  repeat,  you  are  laying  yourselves 
open  more  and  more,  every  day,  to  unpleasant 
criticism  and  notoriety.     Just  let  enough  of  that 


CHARLEY  DEANE  147 

sort  of  thing  get  started,  and  something  worse  will 
follow.  The  next  case  which  comes  up  in  court, 
will  feel  the  effect  of  it." 

Deane  wriggled  a  little  under  this  argument. 
Then  he  said, 

"Why  do  you  come  to  me  alone  about  this?  I 
am  only  one.  Even  if  you  did  convince  me,  I 
might  not  be  able  to  persuade  my  associates.  Why 
don*t  you  appear  before  us  when  we  have  our 
monthly  meeting?" 

"When  do  you  have  your  next  meeting?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon,  at  2  p.  m.,  at  the  home 
of  our  president." 

Sherrill  made  a  careful  note  of  time  and  place 
on  a  page  of  his  notebook,  a  page  which  he  had 
headed  "Kenneth  Crane." 

"We  shall  all  be  there,"  Deane  continued; 
"president,  secretary,  treasurer  and  manager.  We 
shall  be  pleased  to  give  you  a  hearing.  I  know 
you  won't  show  us  any  mercy,  but  we  don't  want 
our  corporation  to  get  a  bad  name,"  and  Sherrill 
knew  that  his  argument  had  produced  an  effect; 
just  how  great  an  effect,  the  outcome  alone  could 
determine.     Then  he  inquired, 

"But  suppose  that  a  representative  of  the 
California  stockholders,  a  Mr.  Crane,  direct  from 
the  mainland,  wished  to  appear  before  that  meeting. 
Would  he  be  given  a  hearing?" 

"He  certainly  would,  Mr.  Sherrill." 

"Very  well,"  and  the  lieutenant  rose. 

As  he  stood  there  for  a  moment  handling  his 
military  cap,  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  portrait 
of   the   native   ruler,    hanging   on   the   wall.      The 


148  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

pictured  figure  of  the  king  was  posed  in  an 
attitude  of  easy  dignity,  with  one  hand  extended 
in  a  gesture  which  seemed  to  invite  the  world  to 
his  island  kingdom. 

Sherrill's  eye  fell  from  the  painting  to  a  roll-top 
desk,  and  on  top  of  the  desk  he  noticed  a  framed 
white  card  carrying  a  motto.  It  seemed  like  a 
descent  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  for  the 
card  read,  "Don't  waste  your  time  trying  to 
find  out  why  a  black  hen  lays  a  white  egg.  Get 
the  egg."  He  reflected  that,  to  Deane's  mind, 
those  words  probably  contained  the  ultimate 
essence  of  all  human  wisdom. 

"Is  that  your  mental  attitude?"  he  asked,  indicat- 
ing the  card. 

"It  is.    Results  are  what  interest  me." 

"You're  not  interested  in  means  and  methods." 

"They're  none  of  my  concern." 

"You  don't  believe  it  would  be  worth  while  to 
find  out  which  variety  of  hen-food  would  induce 
the  black  hen  to  lay  a  maximum  number  of  white 
eggs  in  a  minimum  number  of  days." 

Deane  did  not  care  to  admit  that  the  very 
mention  of  means  and  methods  jarred  his  nerves 
— that  mentally  he  classed  all  such  study  as  "bosh" 
and  a  waste  of  time.  He  contented  himself  with 
answering  that  he  "always  left  that  sort  of  thing 
to  others." 

"Then  you're  content  to  be  a  plodder  in  paths 
made  by  others." 

"How  so?" 

"Well,  to  illustrate;  long  before  the  X  plantation 


CHARLEY  DEANE  149 

was  started  you  knew  that  the  rainfall  was  very 
much  heavier  on  the  higher  hills  of  the  island, 
where  it's  not  needed,  than  on  the  plains,  where 
it  is  needed/' 

"Yes." 

"And  that  the  volcanic  rocks  are  very  porous, 
absorbing  the  water  like  a  gigantic  sponge." 

"Yes." 

"And  that  the  presence  of  large  bodies  of 
artesian  water  beneath  the  plain  had  been  proved, 
— immense  reservoirs  fed  from  the  hills." 

"That's  so." 

"Yet  it  never  would  have  occurred  to  you  to 
apply  that  knowledge  and  to  use  those  stores  of 
artesian  water  in  irrigating  cane-lands,  had  you 
not  seen  your  neighbors  doing  so,  and  making 
money  thereby." 

This  was  true ;  and — had  Sherrill  only  known  it — 
at  that  very  minute  Deane  owned  stock  in  a  tourist 
hotel,  and  had  contributed  to  a  fund  for  fetching 
an  expert  to  Honolulu,  an  expert  who  would  tell 
how  the  city  might  be  beautified  so  as  to  render 
it  more  attractive  in  the  eyes  of  travelers,  with  a 
consequent  increase  in  tourist  travel  and  greater 
profits  in  the  hotel  business.  And  all  the  while 
the  solution  of  the  problem  was  before  Deane's 
eye,  had  he  been  willing  to  study  on  it. 

He  knew  that  lines  of  palm  trees  on  a  sandy 
shore  are  very  picturesque.  He  knew  that  there 
was  every  opportunity  to  plant  a  row  of  gracefully 
curving  cocoa-palms  around  Honolulu  harbor, 
where  they  would  have  added  a  tropical  tone  to 
relieve  the  commercial  foreground  of  wharves  and 


150  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  commercial  background  of  warehouses.  He 
could  have  pointed  out  the  very  grove,  lying 
between  King  street  and  the  sea,  from  which  the 
trees  could  have  been  transplanted — a  grove  which 
would  have  been  improved  by  the  thinning.  And 
yet  he  preferred  to  contribute  money  for  fetching 
an  expert  from  the  mainland — a  man  who  had 
gotten  his  training  in  large  American  municipal- 
ities, and  who  suggested  a  plan  for  city  improve- 
ment so  expensive  that  it  never  could  be  carried 
out. 

"Well,"  Deane  answered,  "you'll  have  to  admit 
that  in  spite  of  my  plodding  methods  and  lack 
of  imagination,  I'm  accumulating  some  metaphor- 
ical eggs  that  are  pretty  valuable.  If  you'll  go 
ten  miles  from  here  to  Pearl  City,  you'll  find  a 
very  delightful  home,  which  belongs  to  me.  My 
property  in  the  city  is  rented,  all  of  it.  And  the 
X  plantation  is  a  wonderful  producer." 

In  fact,  Charley  Deane  was  nearly  as  well 
satisfied  with  his  lot  in  life  as  was  the  president 
of  the  company.  Every  week-day  morning  a 
luxurious  car  brought  him  to  the  bank,  where  he 
would  arrive  about  ten  a.  m.  In  the  afternoon 
his  car  might  carry  him  to  the  beach  at  Waikiki, 
or  to  the  X  plantation,  or  on  a  tour  of  inspection 
of  his  real-estate  holdings  in  the  city.  On  Sunday 
he  would  entertain  guests  in  his  Pearl  City  home, 
where  he  could  amuse  them  with  Sunday  cruises 
around  Pearl  Harbor,  for  he  owned  a  commodious 
motor-yacht.  His  name  still  was  carried  on  the 
church-roll,  but  services  seldom  saw  him. 


CHARLEY  DEANE  151 

After  Sherrill  had  bowed  himself  out  Deane 
continued  to  sit  there,  lost  in  thought,  while  the 
clock  ticked  on  and  his  lunch-hour  came  and  went. 
What  the  lieutenant  had  said,  revolved  in  his 
mind.  Why  not  be  content  with  his  present  good 
fortune?     Why  tempt  fate  further? 

"I  think  I'll  have  a  talk  with  our  president," 
was  his  conclusion.  "I'd  trust  his  sooner  than 
anyone  else,  to  steer  us  away  from  the  rocks." 


XII 

MALEFACTORS 

DEANE  turned  to  the  telephone  and  called  up 
the  Cosmos  Club.  Yes,  the  president  was 
there.  He  was  very  busy,  but  if  Mr.  Deane 
could  come  at  eight  o'clock,  he  would  be  delighted 
to  see  him.  And  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening 
Deane's  motor-car  brought  him  to  the  portal  of 
the  Cosmos  Club. 

The  president  had  been  busy  preparing  a 
paper  on  "The  Value  of  Literary  Criticism."  This 
paper  he  would  read  before  a  select  circle  of  the 
club.  Now  he  was  sorting  and  numbering  the 
pages. 

He  was  sitting  in  an  ebony  chair  at  an  ebony 
table,  in  a  study  adjoining  the  library.  The  room 
was  panelled  with  koa  wood,  and  lined  with 
bookcases  which  rose  to  half  the  height  of  the 
walls,  and  upon  the  cases  stood  statuettes  and 
specimens  of  Chinese  pottery  and  porcelain.  Their 
white  curves  and  gaudy  colors  contrasted  with  the 
dark  woodwork.  A  cluster  of  electric  globes  hung 
from  the  center  of  the  ceiling,  shaded  so  that  the 
light,  beneath  the  crimson  silk,  fell  only  on  the 
round  top  of  the  table  and  the  figures  of  those  who 
sat  beside  it.  The  features  of  the  two  men  who 
faced  each  other  across  the  table  stood  out 
strongly  against  the  dark  background  of  books. 

Charley  Deane  had  been  prompt  in  keeping  the 


MALEFACTORS  153 

appointment.  Now  he  fussed  and  fidgetted,  as  he 
considered  how  best  to  broach  the  subject. 

"Lieutenant  Sherrill  was  in  my  office  this 
morning,"  he  said  at  last,  "He  came  to  speak  to 
me  about " 

"About  dividends?" 

"Yes.    How  did  you  know?" 

"He  was  here  to  interview  me  on  the  same  topic, 
two  days  ago." 

"Then  you  know  his  opinion  of  our  game  of 
freeze-out." 

"I  believe  I  do.  He  seems  to  be  getting  quite 
active  as  a  champion  of  the  minority  stockholders. 
I  wonder  what's  behind  his  sudden  activity." 

"That  is  precisely  the  question  that's  troubling 
me.  That's  what  I  want  to  discuss  with  you. 
Sherrill  thinks  those  California  people  are  getting 
desperate." 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you  where  he  gets  some  of  his 
ideas.  A  representative  of  the  minority  stock- 
holders, is  here  from  California.  His  name  is 
Kenneth  Crane.  He  and  Sherrill  have  been  touring 
the  island  together.  I  suppose  Crane  has  given 
him  his  version  of  the  affair." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  they  mean  to  do?" 
Deane  asked  anxiously. 

"Do!  They  can't  do  anything,"  and  the 
president's  tone  was  very  contemptuous. 

"Perhaps  they  cannot,  but  even  so,  we  shall 
come  in  for  a  lot  of  harsh  criticism;  they'll  try  to 
give  us  a  reputation  that  may  stick." 

"Criticism!  My  dear  Mr.  Deane,  do  you  allow 
such  a  little  thing  as  criticism  to  worry  you?" 


154  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

"I'm  afraid  I  do,  especially  when  I  fear  that 
something  worse  will  follow.'* 

"Then  just  set  your  mind  at  ease.  That 
^something  worse'  is  not  coming.  Nor  is  there 
anything  in  criticism,  and  I  am  prepared  to  prove 
it  to  you,"  and  the  president  picked  up  a  periodical 
which  had  been  lying  on  the  table.  He  scanned 
it  for  the  citation  he  wanted. 

"You've  come  to  me  in  the  nick  of  time, 
Charley,"  he  continued.  "The  paper  on  which 
I've  been  working,  deals  with  this  very  topic,  and 
I'm  full  of  it,"  and  for  the  next  half  hour  the 
president  proceeded  to  give  Deane  the  substance 
of  the  paper,  discoursing  upon  the  relative  merits 
of  two  popular  novels  and  upon  the  bad  judgment 
displayed  in  certain  reviews  which  he  had  culled 
from  a  literary  journal.  While  Deane  found  the 
talk  "interesting"  in  some  respects,  it  struck  him  as 
being  so  far  off  the  subject  he  had  come  to  discuss, 
that  he  listened  with  less  and  less  patience  as  the 
president  proceeded.  When  the  peroration  was 
concluded,  Deane's  patience  was  gone. 

"Yes,  yes;  I'll  admit  all  you  say,"  he  exploded. 
"But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what  has  all  this  to  do 
with  the  question  of  DIVIDENDS?  Here  we  sit, 
talking  popular  novels  and  literary  criticism,  while 
two  hundred  angry  stockholders  are  getting  ready 
to  put  us  in  jail." 

The  president  studied  Deane  for  a  moment. 
"Poor  Charley!  I  guess  he  has  lost  his  nerve,"  he 
thought.     Then  he  said, 

"Why,  Charley,  the  whole  aim  and  object  of  my 
talk  has  been  to  prove  that  criticism  is  a  worthless 


MALEFACTORS  155 

thing  that  should  be  ignored.  The  drift  of  my 
argument  may  not  have  been  quite  clear  at  first, 
but  I  believed  I  had  made  it  plain  ultimately.  Let 
those  two  hundred  stockholders  criticise  us  all 
they  want.  Their  criticisms  will  run  off  like  water 
from  a  duck's  back." 

But  Deane  was  warmed  up  and  argumentative. 
He  answered, 

"You  say  that  all  criticism  is  worthless,  because 
you  believe  you  have  proved  that  a  certain 
journal's  reviews  of  Jack  London's  books  are 
worthless.  But  even  if  the  point  is  well  taken, 
how  about  those  journals  that  reversed  the  verdict? 
One  false  criticism  doesn't  disqualify  all  criticism. 
One  swallow  doesn't  make  a  meal." 

The  president  declined  to  argue  the  point. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  one  of  those  little  birds  cannot 
have  much  meat  on  its  bones,"  he  admitted.  "Well, 
we'll  let  that  pass.  But  as  for  putting  us  in  jail, 
the  thing  cannot  be  done." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

"Absolutely." 

"I  wish  you  would  make  me  equally  sure." 

"I  am  absolutely  sure,  because  we  are  in  a 
position  to  put  our  opponents  in  jail  before  they 
can  touch  us.  Just  consider  the  case  for  a  moment, 
Charley.  First,  what  do  we  know  for  certain?  We 
know  that  those  minority  stockholders  are  dis- 
gruntled and  would  like  to  make  trouble  for  us. 
We  know  that  they  have  tried  to  take  legal  steps 
and  have  failed.  We  know  that  they  are  paying 
the  expenses  of  a  party  of  Japanese  who  were 
working  for  us,  under  contract.    Mark  that,  "under 


156  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

contract."  Now  those  Japanese  are  just  as  much 
under  contract  to  us  as  ever  they  were.  Their 
time  hasn't  expired.  We  didn't  hold  them,  simply 
because  we  had  found  them  to  be  'undesirable 
citizens,'  so  to  speak.  Now,  if  Mr.  Crane  or  anyone 
else  approaches  them  with  an  offer  of  employ- 
ment, we  can  shut  right  down  on  Mr.  Crane  or 
anyone  else.  We  can  put  him  in  jail  for  six 
months  for  enticing  them  to  break  their  contract 
with  us,  for  that  is  what  his  offer  of  employment 
can  be  shown  to  amount  to.  Now  do  you  begin 
to  appreciate  the  legal  side  of  the  situation?" 

Deane  did  begin  to  grasp  the  legal  side  of  the 
situation.  He  also  regretted  that  the  president 
had  not  confined  himself  to  the  legal  aspect  of  the 
case,  instead  of  having  wasted  half  an  hour  in 
discussing  the  value  of  criticism. 

"Then  the  situation  is  this,"  he  said.  "If  Mr. 
Crane  assigns  these  Japanese  any  definite  task, 
that  will  amount  to  giving  them  employment,  and 
that  will  render  him  liable  to  imprisonment  under 
the  law." 

"Precisely.  Just  recollect  the  law.  And  while 
Mr.  Crane  is  serving  his  sentence,  he  will  not  be 
in  a  position  to  trouble  us." 

"That  is,  if  we  are  in  a  position  to  get  him  in 
time." 

"And  we  will  get  him  in  time.  Our  legal 
friend,  Atten,  has  a  man  employed  to  watch  the 
Japanese.  The  moment  Crane  approaches  them, 
Atten  will  know  it  and  the  legal  machinery  will 
work." 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  157 

"Good!  Then  Atten  is  all  ready  for  the 
emergency." 

"He  is.  You  may  rest  secure,  while  leaving  all 
such  points  to  Frank  Atten.  I  have  every  confi- 
dence in  the  sagacious  man  who  to-day,  as  the 
attorney  of  our  corporation,  walks,  with  recollected 
feet  the  path  of  legal  equity.  And  if  you  have 
any  doubts,  just  present  them  to  him  to-morrow. 
You  know  we  have  our  regular  monthly  meeting 
in  my  Manoa  valley  home." 

"All  right.  I'll  be  there.  But  tell  me  one  thing 
before  I  go, — what  are  'recollected  feet*?" 

The  president's  urbanity  was  not  proof  against 
this  fling.     He  hesitated  and  then  answered, 

"Well,  according  to  the  New  York  Sun,  they 
are — Homer's  and  those  that  tread  on  you." 

And  Deane  and  the  president  rose  and  walked 
together  to  the  street,  where  each  entered  his  car. 
They  would  meet  again  "to-morrow  in  Manoa 
valley."  But  meanwhile  there  were  others — unin- 
vited guests,  citizens  of  Japan — who  were  also 
planning  to  attend  the  meeting. 


XIII 

CITIZENS    OF    JAPAN 

HE  WAS  driving  down  the  road  to  Manoa. 
Down  a  long  avenue  that  lay  like  a  tunnel 
beneath  the  algeroba  trees  Charley  Deane  was 
coming  in  his  roadster.  The  deep  maroon  body 
of  the  car,  varnished,  to  mirror-like  perfection, 
glowed  like  a  great  jewel,  under  the  subdued  light. 
Then  it  swung  around  a  comer  where  commenced 
the  long  stone  wall  bounding  a  college  campus, 
and  Deane  drove  toward  the  hills,  with  the 
entrance  to  the  valley  opening  broadly  before  him. 
If  Deane  hadn't  been  used  to  the  place  already, 
he  would  have  thought  it  worth  a  visit  for  its  own 
sake,  for  in  all  Honolulu  there  was  no  more 
delightful  district.  Manoa  was  a  paradise  of 
winding  roads  and  golf-grounds  and  suburban 
bungalows;  a  place  v^iJtTe  palm  branches  waved 
and  dragon  trees  rustled  and  multitudinous 
flowers  flashed  all  the  tints  of  the  rainbow  while 
diffusing  their  perfume  over  wide  lawns.  Scarcely 
known  to  traveling  public,  the  sequestered  nook 
where  the  valley  lay  dreaming  among  the  hills 
was  away  from  the  beaten  tracks.  No  dusty 
highways,  scorched  by  throngs  of  island-circling 
tourists,  ran  through  its  peaceful  domain.  An 
occasional  visitor  might  happen  to  find  the  little 
electric  line  leading  within  its  borders.  If  so,  as 
he  walked  the  quiet  paths,  he  decided  that  here  at 
last  was  the  Happy  Valley. 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  159 

At  the  very  entrance  there  were  some  low 
rocky  elevations,  the  remains  of  streams  of  lava  and 
cinders  which  had  burst  out  during  a  comparatively 
recent  period  in  the  island's  history.  The  low 
heights  had  been  utilized  as  sites  for  suburban 
homes.  Among  them  was  the  home  of  the 
president  of  the  X  Sugar  Company. 

On  a  stony  platform  which  jutted  out  from  the 
valley  wall  the  mansion  had  been  set.  The  site 
was  a  natural  terrace,  overlooking  the  valley-floor 
two  hundred  feet  below,  where  a  curving  white 
road  swung  toward  the  higher  hills — hills  covered 
with  a  tangled  exuberance  of  tropical  forests, 
through  which  the  eye  could  follow  the  channels 
of  immense  ravines  that  climbed  to  the  crest  of  the 
range.  Blue  skies,  brave  with  sunlight,  arched 
overhead,  and  through  those  skies  there  drifted 
the  trade-wind  clouds  with  their  perpetual  play  of 
mist  and  light  and  shadow.  Nowhere  could  the 
president  have  found  a  more  delightful  location. 
And  his  home  was  worthy  of  such  a  setting. 

But  the  residence  was  not  of  a  palatial  type. 
It  was  no  turreted  chateau,  with  yard-thick  walls 
of  black  volcanic  rock,  and  great  arched  entrances, 
and  narrow  windows  and  wide  halls,  with  towers 
and  pinnacles  lifting  their  round  roofs  above  it. 
Its  keynote  was  comfort,  not  cost — a  frame 
structure,  with  moss-green  roof  and  low  white 
walls  and  white  pillars  and  wide  verandahs;  a 
charmingly  modern  bungalow.  For  a  home  in  the 
tropics  it  was  idyllic.  And  it  was  surrounded  with 
grounds  which  blazed  with  all  the  splendor  of  the 
torrid  zone. 


160  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

The  grounds  were  sheltered  from  the  highway 
by  a  triple  line  of  cocoa-palms,  and  by  a  low  wall 
of  coral  rock  just  outside  the  trees,  with  an  elab- 
orate wrought-iron  gate  opening  into  a  winding 
avenue  that  led  to  the  house. 

Used  as  he  was  to  the  place,  Charley  Deane 
couldn't  help  stopping  for  a  moment  to  admire  the 
beauty  of  the  garden. 

"What  a  splendid  ornamental  tree  is  the  royal 
palm!"  he  thought. 

The  tree  he  looked  at,  like  a  lustrous  plume, 
played  in  the  wind.  Its  fronds  were  emerald  green, 
crowning  the  column  of  the  tall  straight  trunk, 
which  rose  as  smooth  and  round  as  though  it  were 
a  pillar,  carved  in  a  rock-hewn  temple  of  old 
Egypt.  And  there  were  others  like  it, — five  hundred 
more.  Ranged  in  two  ranks,  on  either  side  they 
stood,  bordering  the  winding  avenue  which  led 
to  the  mansion. 

Lines  of  magnolias  paralleled  the  palms.  From 
each  immense  blossom  of  creamy  white  there 
floated  a  delicate  perfume. 

Beneath  the  trees  there  grew  poinsettias.  They 
flamed  with  scarlet  flowers. 

So  that  garden  grew,  terrace  above  terrace,  all 
overlooked  by  the  mansion.  Within  the  grounds 
had  been  gathered  nearly  all  the  more  delightful 
flowers  and  trees  of  the  torrid  and  temperate 
zones;  green,  spreading  samang  trees  from  India, 
golden  broom  trees  from  Europe,  rose-tinted 
orchids  from  Brazil.  It  was  difficult  to  decide 
which  to  admire  most — the  taste  of  the  arrange- 
ment or  the  beauty  of  the  colors  or  the  delicacy 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  161 

of  the  perfume, — for  the  air  was  the  humid,  hot- 
house air  of  the  tropics,  in  which  the  heavy 
fragrance  hung  till  it  almost  cloyed. 

When  the  afternoon  breeze  filtered  into  those 
grounds,  it  was  accompanied  with  the  rustling  of 
the  long,  saber-like  leaves  of  dragon  trees,  with 
the  rippling  of  palm-branches,  and  with  the  slow 
waving  of  trailing  tropical  vines  overhanging 
blossoming  rows  of  hibiscus. 

Scarlet  and  green  and  gold!  Grace  and  color 
and  perfume!    All  were  there. 

Through  the  garden  Charley  Deane  hurried.  He 
ascended  a  short  wide  flight  of  steps  which  led  to 
a  verandah.  The  verandah  was  very  wide,  with  a 
white  roof  and  a  low  white  railing,  and  just  outside 
that  railing  there  grew  a  row  of  royal  palms, 
rustling  their  great  green  fronds  against  the  white 
pillars.  Where  fell  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  palms 
a  table  stood,  and  around  that  table  were  gathered 
Deane's  associates. 

There  was  the  president,  carefully  groomed  from 
top  to  toe,  his  blue  serge  suit  fitting  him  perfectly, 
the  coat  thrown  wide  open  to  display  an  expanse 
of  negligee  shirt.  His  silver  whiskers  contrasted 
with  his  gold-rimmed  eye-glasses. 

There  was  the  secretary,  Frank  Atten,  with  his 
winsome  smile  and  his  ponderous  bulk,  a  broad- 
brimmed  Panama  shading  his  smooth-shaven  face. 

There  was  the  manager — tall,  lean,  dark-com- 
plexioned, with  hard  glittering  eyes  and  a  nose 
which  suggested  a  vulture's  beak.  Fresh  from  the 
cane-fields,  he  had  ridden  on  horse-back  to  the 
meeting. 


162  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"There!  This  is  good!"  said  the  treasurer,  as  he 
took  his  place.  "Give  me  the  open,  every  time,  for 
private  conference.  They  say  that  walls  have  ears, 
but  where  there  are  no  walls,  there's  no  danger 
of  dictagraphs  or  listeners  at  keyholes,"  and  he 
looked  uneasily  over  the  railing  to  make  sure  that 
no  one  lurked  beneath  the  edge  of  the  verandah. 
His  associates  smiled.  No  sense  of  impending 
peril  troubled  them. 

"Poor  Charley!  Timid  as  ever,"  the  president 
whispered  beneath  his  hand.  "I  should  not  mind 
if  the  whole  town  were  here  to  hear  us,"  and  he 
rapped  for  order. 

"Mr.  Deane,"  he  informed  the  treasurer,  "we 
have  listened  already  to  the  secretary's  report.  If 
there  is  no  objection,  it  stands  approved.  And 
now  we  come  to  the  special  business  of  the  day, — 
whether  our  present  policy  shall  continue,  or 
whether  we  shall  reverse  it  and  declare  a  dividend. 
We  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  from  you,  Mr.  Deane." 

"Really — really,  gentlemen,"  and  the  treasurer 
flushed  and  stammered,  "Please  don't  classify  me 
as  a  champion  of  the  minority  stockholders.  I  was 
under  the  impression  that  lieutenant  Sherrill,  and 
also  a  Mr.  Crane,  from  the  mainland,  would  be 
here  to  address  the  meeting  in  their  behalf." 

"We  have  seen  nothing  of  them." 

"Then  I  find  ^myself  in  a  most  embarrassing  situ- 
ation. I  sincerely  trust  that  no  offense  shall  be 
taken  at  anything   I  shall  say." 

There  were  polite  murmurs  of  "None  whatever, 
Mr.  Deane,"  "Please  proceed." 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  163 

"Gentlemen,  I  have  been  reflecting  very 
seriously  over  the  situation.  We  commenced  our 
present  policy  in  the  belief  that  the  minority 
stockholders  would  sell  their  holdings  when  they 
saw  that  those  holdings  brought  them  no 
returns.  But  what  is  the  situation  to-day?  We 
have  two  hundred  angry  stockholders  camping 
on  our  trail, — aroused,  angry  and  determined. 
They  propose  to  annoy  us  continually,  to  be  a 
thorn  in  the  side  of  each  of  us.  They  propose 
to  mold  public  opinion,  to  make  us  objects  of 
public  contempt.  And,  besides  all  that,  there 
is  no  knowing  in  what  devilish  plots  they  may 
engage — plots  affecting  our  liberty  or  our  lives. 
Has  not  the  time  come  for  a  change  of  policy? 
We  have  prospered  wonderfully.  Why  not  be 
content  with  our  good  fortune  and  avoid  future 
trouble?" 

Deane's  re-assurance  had  evaporated  in  the 
tropical  glare   of  the  morning  after. 

There  was  a  sarcastic  smile  on  Frank  Atten's 
face  as  he  listened.     Now  he  rose  to  reply. 

"Before  Mr.  Deane  lets  a  conspiracy  worry 
him,  wouldn't  it  be  well  for  him  to  make  sure 
that  there   is  a   conspiracy?'* 

"I  refer  to  the  squad  of  Japanese  who  are  out 
on  strike,"  Deane  interrupted.  "I  understand 
that  the  Californians  are  in  communication  with 
them." 

"What  of  it?  I  believe  I  have  that  situation 
thoroughly  in  hand.     I  thought  you  knew  it." 

"But  it  wouldn't  take  much  to  incite  those 
Japs  to  anything." 


164  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"What  could  they  do?  You'll  have  to  show 
me. 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  death  of  Hooper,  our 
book-keeper?  Have  you  forgotten  the  morning 
when  he  was  found,  foully  murdered,  shot  in 
the  back,  lying  on  the  track  of  the  plantation 
railroad? — Hooper,  one  of  the  best  liked  and 
most  popular  men  in  the  Islands." 

"But  these  Japanese  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  death  of  Hooper — and  you  know  we  tried 
hard  to   saddle  it  on  them." 

Deane  dropped  back  into  his  chair,  silenced. 

"And  next,"  Atten  continued,  "if  the  idea  of 
a  conspiracy  is  troubling  Mr.  Deane,  wouldn't 
it  be  well  for  him  to  look  up  the  laws  against 
conspiracy?  He  will  find  them  very  stringent. 
But,  even  if  we  sat  idly  and  made  no  attempt 
to  defend  ourselves,  I  doubt  if  the  people  to 
whom  he  refers  could  accomplish  anything.  The 
Californians  are  far  away.  You  say  they  may 
influence  public  opinion.  How  can  they  influence 
public  opinion  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands?  And, 
even  if  they  could,  to  what  does  public  opinion 
amount  ? 

"I  believe  that  what's  worrying  Mr.  Deane,  is 
the  presence  in  Honolulu  of  a  representative  of 
the  California  stockholders.  Don't  let  your 
conscience  be  so  tender,  Mr.  Deane, — or  your 
imagination  so  active.  That  fellow  Crane  appears 
to  be  no  more  than  a  tourist.  He  has  done 
nothing  overt  since  his  arrival.  And  if  he  does 
try  to  meddle  in  our  affairs,  we  are  prepared  to 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  165 

handle  him.  Gentlemen,  I  move  that  we  ballot 
on   the   question  of  'dividends   or  no   dividends'." 

The  manager  was  about  to  second  the  motion, 
when  the  tramp  of  heavy  boots  was  heard, 
crushing  the  gravel  on  the  winding  avenue.  All 
looked  in  that  direction,  A  number  of  Japanese 
were  approaching. 

Obviously  they  were  laborers,  for  they  wore 
the  costume  of  the  cane-fields,  although  they 
carried  no  knives.  Each  wore  a  pair  of  thick- 
soled  shoes,  laced  high  on  the  calf.  Their  clothing 
was  of  blue  cotton.  It  was  clean,  though  old  and 
patched.  They  wore  no  hats,  but  the  head  of  each 
man  was  enveloped  in  a  red  handkerchief,  tied 
beneath  the  chin,  so  that  his  features  projected 
grotesquely  from  the  center  of  the  folds. 

"Who  are  they,  and  what  brings  them  here?" 
inquired  the  president. 

*1  remember  them,"  answered  Atten.  "These 
are  the  cane-cutters  who  claim  they  were  defrauded. 
I  guess  they've  come  to  demand  what  they  call 
'their  rights'." 

"Set  the  dogs  on  them,"  suggested  the  manager. 

"Now,  gentlemen!  nothing  hasty,"  the  president 
counselled.  "Let's  give  them  a  hearing.  Of 
course,  we  shall  have  to  uphold  our  manager.  But 
it  would  hardly  do  to  give  those  people  an  oppor- 
tunity to  say  we  had  refused  to  listen  to  their 
case." 

With  a  quick  and  confident  step,  the  Japanese 
ascended  the  verandah.  Fresh  from  a  conference 
with  Kenneth  Crane,  they  were  primed  with 
assurance.  Their  leader,  Wanto,  dashed  the  hand- 


166  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

kerchief  from  his  head  and  advanced  to  address 
the  meeting.  His  followers  gathered  in  a  group 
behind  him. 

Wanto  was  an  elderly  man.  He  had  commenced 
life  as  a  fisherman.  He  had  served  many  years  in 
the  Japanese  navy.  He  had  gone  from  the  navy 
into  the  British  merchant  service,  where  his  "eyes 
had  grown  dim  with  gazing  on  the  pilot  stars." 
At  last  he  had  come  to  the  Hawaiian  Isles  as  a 
plantation  laborer,  for  sailor-like  he  never  had 
accumulated  any  property.  But,  while  he  was  no 
richer  than  any  of  his  followers,  they  respected 
him  for  his  experience  and  his  education,  which 
— in  its  way — ^was  considerable. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  growled  the  manager, 
between  puffs  on  a  cigarette. 

"We  want  what  belongs  to  us,"  answered  Wanto. 
"At  the  plantation  we  came  to  you,  Mr.  Manager, 
and  you  referred  us  to  Mr.  Atten.  We  went  to 
Mr.  Atten,  and  he  told  us  to  come  before  the 
next  meeting  of  the  directors.  Now,  here  we  are. 
The  manager  knows  the  facts  of  the  case.  So  does 
Mr.  Atten.     Do  we  get  our  rights?" 

While  Wanto's  command  of  English  was  very 
good,  he  may  not  have  expressed  himself  quite 
as  above.  However,  such  was  the  substance  of 
what  he  said. 

"Please  state  their  case,  Mr.  Atten,"  the  presi- 
dent requested. 

"I  understand  it  to  be  no  more  than  a  question 
of  a  day's  pay,"  was  the  secretary's  response. 
"These  fellows  claimed  that  the  book-keeper,  in 
making  out  the  accounts,  neglected  to  credit  them 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  167 

for  one  day's  work.  They  appealed  to  the  manager. 
He  understands  the  Japanese  nature — greedy  and 
grasping  to  the  last  degree.  He  saw  at  once  that 
their  claim  was  no  more  than  an  impudent  attempt 
at  graft.  He  told  them  so.  They  went  on  a 
strike.  This  particular  bunch  had  shown  them- 
selves to  be  trouble-makers,  and  we  were  glad  to 
let  them  go." 

"Then  all  they  want  is  one  day's  pay." 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Wanto.  "We  must  not  only 
be  paid  for  that  day,  but  also  we  must  be  paid  in 
full  for  every  day  that  we  have  lost." 

The  directors  leaned  back  in  their  chairs  and 
laughed.     "There's  Japanese  impudence  for  you!" 

"You  call  our  demands  'J^ipanese  impudence,' " 
answered  Wanto.  "Do  you  suppose  we  would 
make  any  such  demand  if  we  had  no  cause?  Since 
we  left  your  plantation — a  plantation  where  the 
mules  have  better  quarters  than  the  men — you 
have  given  us  a  bad  name  throughout  the  Islands. 
You  have  put  us  on  the  black-list.  You  have  made 
it  impossible  for  us  to  secure  employment  any- 
where. Last  week,  when  the  Portuguese  ran  from 
the  W  plantation,  we  applied  for  their  places.  We 
were  refused  employment,  although  the  plantation 
was  in  most  urgent  need  of  men.  You  are  the 
ones  who  are  responsible  for  our  being  idle,  and 
you  will  have  to  pay  for  every  idle  day. 

"And  if  you  don't  pay  in  full,  things  will  begin 
to  happen,"  added  Wanto. 

"Oh,  you  threaten  us,  do  you?"  snorted  Atten. 
"Gentlemen,  I  call  on  you  to  be  witnesses  of  that 
speech,"  and  then  added,  addressing  the  Japanese, 


168  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

But  Wanto  was  at  fault.  His  manner  was 
undecided.     He  inquired, 

"Is  Mr.   Kenneth  Crane  here?" 

"He  is  not  here." 

^What  have  yOu  done  with  him?"  and  Wanto 
was   very   suspicious. 

"Mr.  Crane  has  not  appeared  before  this 
meeting,  and  we  know  nothing  of  his  plans.  Has 
he  been  talking  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh!  Once  more  I  ask  you  to  be  witnesses  to 
what  this  man  says,"  and  Atten  turned  with  a 
triumphant  air  to  his  associates,  as  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "We'll  get  that  fellow."  Then  he 
asked  the  Japanese, 

"What  did  Crane  have  to  say  to  you?" 

But  Wanto  wouldn't  tell.  However,  he  had  lost 
a  large  share  of  his  self-confidence.  He  turned  an 
uneasy  glance  towards  the  avenue,  as  though  he 
hoped  to  see  Crane  come  in  sight.  But  he  only 
saw  a  boy  on  a  bicycle.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
hitch  in  Wanto's  program. 

The  boy  jumped  from  his  wheel  and  ran  up  the 
steps  to  the  verandah. 

"Message  for  Mr.  Frank  Atten,"  he  called. 

Atten  accepted  and  signed  for  the  message.  As 
he  read  it,  his  associates  saw  his  face  light  up. 
Waving  the  paper  toward  the  Japanese,  he  said, 

"If  you  fellows  are  looking  for  Crane,  I  can 
tell  you  where  to  find  him.     He's  in  jail." 

"Read  us  the  message,"  cried  the  president. 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  169 

Atten  read  as  follows, 

"Dear  Mr.  Atten: 

Crane  has  been  in  conference  with  the 
Japanese.  This  morning  I  followed  him  to  their  cabin. 
He  made  them  an  offer,  and  I  have  the  evidence  to 
prove  it.  I  swore  out  a  warrant,  and  Mr.  Kenneth 
Crane  is  now   behind  the   bars. 

John  Carding." 

Here  was  a  sudden  change  of  program  for 
Wanto.  He  turned  to  his  followers  and  addressed 
them  in  their  own  language,  for  some  of  them 
understood  no  English.  Their  confident  air  dis- 
appeared. Slowly  they  shuffled  from  the  verandah. 
Lingering  on  the  foot-path,  they  began  to  confer 
among  themselves. 

As  the  Japanese  lost  their  confidence,  the 
treasurer's  returned.  His  spirits  rose  as  rapidly 
as  theirs  had  fallen. 

"Gentlemen,  I  propose  that  we  drop  the  dis- 
cussion on  which  we  were  engaged,"  he  said.  "Let 
us  continue  our  present  policy,"  and  then  he  called 
to  the  messenger, 

"Here,  boy!  Don't  go.  There's  an  answer," 
and  he  wrote  as  follows: 

My  dear  Mr.  Carding: 

I  am  rushing  to  send  you  a  bonus  and  my 
heartiest  congratulations  on  the  splendid  work  you  are 
doing.  It  compares  favorably  Vv'ith  that  of  any  pro- 
fessional, and  is  a  credit  to  you  and  to  Mr.  Atten  for 
employing  you.  Please  accept  an  extra  $100.  Find 
check  herewith. 

Don't  forget,  when  you  travel  past  Pearl  Harbor,  to 
make  a  flying  jump  from  the  train,  and  drop  in  on  us 
at  our  home.  Mrs.  Deane  wants  to  see  how  the  university 
has  affected  you.  She  thought  that  education  might  have 
a  relaxing  effect,  but  I  am  sure  it  didn't. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Charles.  W.  Deane. 


170  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

He  signed,  sealed  and  delivered  the  note  to  the 
messenger.     Then  he  said, 

"Gentlemen,  I  propose  the  health  of  Mr.  John 
Carding!" 

All  applauded.  The  Chinese  steward  brought 
iced  drinks.     They  stood  to  -drink  the  toast. 

"Another  idea  occurs  to  me,"  said  Deane.  "Why 
not  take  a  short  vacation?  My  motor-yacht  is  in 
commission.  I  have  been  planning  to  invite  you 
to  be  my  guests  for  a  cruise — a  week's  shark- 
hunting  and  tuna-fishing  in  the  lochs  of  Pearl 
Harbor.  Fishermen  report  a  school  of  fourteen- 
foot  man-eaters  in  the  western  loch.  Why  not 
take  that  vacation  now?  Will  you  honor  me  by 
accepting  my  hospitality  for  the  coming  week?" 

"Delighted,"  "Agreed,"  "Most  happy  to  come," 
they  answered. 

"Your  invitation  is  most  opportune  in  my  case,** 
said  the  president.  "You  know  my  wife  and 
family  are  away,  on  a  visit  to  the  mainland.  I'm 
tired  of  keeping  bachelor's  hall.  And  allow  me 
to  make  a  suggestion.  Let  us  meet  at  the  City — I 
mean  the  Cosmos  Club  this  evening.** 

"And  from  the  club  I  can  take  you  in  my 
limousine  to  Pearl  City,"  added  Deane. 

"But  how  about  the  prisoner,  Crane?"  Atten 
asked.  "We  shall  have  to  appear  in  court  against 
him!" 

No  hurry  about  that,"  answered  the  president. 
"Let  him  stay  in  jail  till  we  are  ready.  Let  him 
lie  for  a  week  in  solitary  confinement  in  the 
city  prison.  It  will  take  some  of  the  assertiveness 
out  of  him.** 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  171 

Just  then  he  noticed  that  the  cane-cutters  still 
stood  below  the  verandah.  He  leaned  over  the 
railing. 

"Here  you !  We'll  do  nothing  for  you,"  he  called. 
"You  had  your  say.    Now  get  off  my  premises." 

The  manager  added  a  few  cursory  remarks  in 
Japanese.  They  moved  slowly  away,  muttering 
among  themselves. 

In  the  meantime,  a  Chinese  servant,  obedient  to 
a  hint  from  "Foxy  Grandpa,"  had  scurried  to  the 
rear  of  the  residence,  where  he  loosed  two  German 
wolf-hounds.  Heralded  by  a  tremendous,  bellow- 
ing bay,  their  enormous  heads  and  frothing  jaws 
appeared  around  a  corner  of  the  mansion.  The 
Japanese  caught  one  glimpse,  then  disappeared 
briskly  down  the  winding  avenue. 

Deane  couldn't  help  laughing  with  the  rest, 
while  they  watched  the  picture  made  by  the 
Japanese,  flying  down  the  avenue,  followed  by  the 
ferocious  brutes.  But  the  sight  of  Atten,  rocking 
back  and  forth  in  his  chair,  slapping  the  table,  and 
fairly  shouting  with  laughter,  sobered  him. 

"We're  a  heartless  lot,"  Deane  said.  "We  won't 
pay  those  poor  devils  a  cent,  we  won't  let  them 
work  for  anyone  else,  and  then  we  set  the  dogs 
on  them.  That's  because  we  have  the  power,  and 
the  law  on  our  side.  But  I  almost  feel  half  sorry 
for  them." 

"Poor  Charley!  Soft-hearted  as  ever,"  said  the 
president.     "Soft-headed,  too,"  he  thought. 

"All's  fair  in  war,"  said  Atten,  "They'll  not 
bother  us  again.  Just  think  of  their  insolence! 
intruding     on     a     gentleman's     grounds,     rushing 


172  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

right  up  to  the  verandah  of  his  private  residence, 
and  assuming  the  tone  that  those  curs  assumed. 
Why  not  get  out  a  warrant,  and  have  them  jailed 
for  disturbing  the  peace?" 

"But  we  can't  make  any  such  charge,"  Deane 
answered. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  We  might  stretch  things  a 
little.  You  know  the  definition  of  a  lie, — An 
abomination  to  the  Lord,  but  a  very  present  help 
in  time  of  trouble." 

"We  don't  seem  to  be  in  any  trouble  at  present," 
said  the  president.  "We  had  better  reserve  those 
extreme  methods  until  their  need  arises.  But  it 
was  amusing  to  see  how  they  came  down,  when 
they  knew  that  their  friend  Crane  was  locked  up.'* 

"Those  who  take  up  the  sword,  shall  perish  by 
the  sword,"  Deane  quoted  piously.  "There's  a 
wonderful  truth  in  that.  Now,  we  have  always 
followed  the  paths  of  peace  and  legality,  and  how 
We  have  prospered !  And  our  prosperity  has  brought 
us  all  the  good  things  of  life,  with  as  few  of  its 
cares  and  anxieties  as  could  be  expected.  Our 
property  is  in  such  a  form  that  returns  roll  in 
without  our  troubling  ourselves  to  do  more  than 
count  the  cash.  And  we  live  in  a  delightful  land, 
in  a  glorious  climate.  We  have  beautiful  homes. 
We  have  yachts  and  clubs  and  automobiles." 

"And  we  have  in  anticipation  the  pleasure  of 
being  the  guests  of  Mr.  Deane  for  a  week's  shark- 
hunting  and  tuna-fishing  in  the  lochs  of  Pearl 
Harbor,"  added  the  president. 

We     may     explain     parenthetically    that     Pearl 


CITIZENS  OF  JAPAN  173 

Harbor  was  divided  into  three  arms  by  its 
peninsulas.  Those  arms  were  known  locally  as 
lochs. 

While  Deane  talked,  they  had  been  rising  from 
the  table.  The  meeting  broke  up.  At  nine  p.  m. 
they  would  come  together  again  at  the  Cosmos 
Club. 

They  were  smiling  and  joking  as  they  prepared 
to  go,  but  their  sentiments  might  have  been 
different  had  they  known  that  at  that  very  minute 
Crane  was  being  released  on  bail — bail  furnished 
by  lieutenant  Sherrill.  His  release  would  be 
brought  to  their  attention  that  night. 


XIV 

NIGHT    WORK 

HONOLULU  at  night!  The  city  resting  beneath 
the  great  tropical  stars  that  peered  down 
between  the  palms;  the  air  made  murmurous 
by  the  rustling  of  branches  and  the  slow  rumbling 
of  surf  on  the  distant  reef. 

The  time  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  that  evening. 
Crane  was  on  his  way  to  a  conference  with  Wanto. 
He  stopped  on  a  comer  for  a  moment,  to  take  one 
more  look  at  his  map  beneath  the  light  of  the 
arc -lamp ;  then  folded  the  paper  to  fit  his  pocket 
and  turned  to  follow  his  Hawaiian  guide  through 
the  gloom  of  Punchbowl  street. 

Each  man  carried  an  electric  torch.  While  the 
electric  lights  at  the  crossings  spilled  brilliant 
splashes  of  illumination,  between  those  islands  of 
light  lay  long  stretches  of  darkness  or  semi- 
darkness,  for  the  narrow  street  was  heavily  shaded 
by  trees  growing  close  behind  low  walls  of  coral 
rock.  Crane  saw  the  dim  outlines  of  gigantic 
banyans  from  India,  of  mango  trees  from  Sumatra, 
of  oaks  from  Australia.  Their  limbs  drooped  over 
the  road,  screening  it  from  the  starlight.  The 
odors  from  the  trees,  filling  the  night  with  the 
breath  of  Oceanica,  kept  suggesting  things  rich 
and  exotic. 

How  different  this  part  of  town  was  from  the 
commercial  and  Oriental  quarters!     Here  were  no 


NIGHT  WORK  175 

blocks  lined  with  stores.  Here  were  no  hotels  of 
massive  concrete,  or  banks  built  of  volcanic  stone. 
It  was  true  there  were  hotels  and  clubs,  but  all 
were  set  within  spacious  grounds,  behind  walls 
and  hedges.  Scarcely  a  sound  came  from  them  to 
break  the  quiet  of  the  night. 

The  way  was  not  an  orthodox  city  avenue.  It 
was  very  unorthodox,  for  it  pursued  a  devious, 
rambling  course.  Narrow  and  sinuous,  it  seemed 
more  like  a  trail  than  a  street.  Once  an  electric 
car  dashed  across,  a  hundred  yards  away.  They 
heard  its  clang  and  whir,  but  could  see  nothing, 
for  it  was  beyond  a  bend. 

But,  spite  of  its  eccentric  twists  and  curves, 
Punchbowl  street  led  steadily  toward  the  old 
volcanic  cone  of  Punchbowl.  A  mile  from  the 
harbor  they  turned  aside  into  a  trail,  for  they 
were  at  the  foot  of  the  crater-wall.  The  Hawaiian 
boy  led  the  way  straight  up  a  narrow,  break-neck 
track,  which  zig-zagged  just  enough  to  keep  its 
grip  on  the  rocks.  Ten  minutes  of  climbing  and 
they  were  at  the  top,  where,  standing  on  the  very 
verge,  they  stopped  to  breathe. 

They  stood  upon  the  crater's  ragged  rim,  where 
once  volcanic  fires  had  roared  and  blazed.  All 
silent  now;  the  mountains  lay  in  peace.  Five 
hundred  feet  below,  the  city  slept,  the  starlight 
falling  upon  it  with  a  vague  luster.  Except  for 
a  few  far  noises  from  the  distant  wharves,  not  a 
sound  broke  the  quiet  of  the  bland  tropical  night. 

In  the  harbor  the  lights  of  warships  glowed  upon 
the  water,  reflected  in  long  yellow  lines  that 
trembled  to  the  whisper  of  the  air.     A  ship's  bell 


176  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

clanging  through  the  night,  proclaimed  the  hour. 
Crane  counted  the  strokes. 

"Eight  bells/'  he  thought.  "Eight  p.  m.  I'm 
in  good  time,"  and  he  turned  to  follow  his  guide. 

Within  that  old  crater  there  was  no  deep 
depression,  such  as  lay  within  the  circle  of 
Diamond  Head.  In  some  pre-historic  age  a 
torrent  of  volcanic  sand  had  been  rained  down  from 
the  higher  hills  and  had  filled  it  almost  to  the 
brim.  The  flat  sandy  surface  was  covered  with 
cultivated  fields.  Here  and  there  the  homes  of 
natives  showed  vaguely. 

The  night  was  clear.  Up  here  there  was  no 
need  for  electric  torches.  Following  a  path  which 
ran  between  the  little  fields,  Crane  and  his  guide 
came  to  the  camp  of  the  Japanese. 

It  was  a  makeshift  affair — a  single  hut,  built 
from  the  flimsiest  of  materials.  The  posts  and 
ridge-pole  and  rafters  were  of  bamboo.  The  walls 
and  roof  were  made  from  grass  mats.  Across  the 
roof  a  single  sheet  of  canvas  had  been  stretched 
^y  guy-ropes  strongly  pinned  to  the  ground  on 
either  side.  Tall  palm  trees  arched  above  it, 
fluttering  their  fronds  in  the  gentle  air,  in 
silhouette  against  the  stars. 

Within  the  cabin  dim  lights  were  burning.  Crane 
heard  his  guide  exchanging  muttered  sentences 
with  someone  who  stood  just  inside  the  entrance. 
Then  he  was  ushered  into  the  place. 

It  was  a  single  room.  Down  its  center  there 
ran  a  rough  table,  where  the  men  were  finishing 
their  evening  rice.  On  the  table  were  thick  white 
bowls  and  chopsticks.     A  row  of  cane-knives  on 


NIGHT  WORK  177 

the  wall  caught  Crane's  eye.  The  knives  were 
thrust  between  the  halves  of  a  long  piece  of 
bamboo,  split  lengthwise,  and  bound  together  with 
a  winding  of  cord  at  either  end.  Crane  saw  no 
signs  of  sleeping-places,  but  judged  that  the  men 
slept  in  the  open  air,  unless  compelled  to  take 
shelter  within  the  cabin  when  an  occasional  shower 
drifted  down  from  the  hills. 

Their  leader,  Wanto,  was  bowing  before  him.  All 
rose  and  greeted  Crane.  Then  the  men  returned 
to  their  rice,  while  the  Californian  and  Wanto 
settled  themselves  for  a  conference. 

"The  reason  I  sent  for  you,"  Wanto  explained, 
"was  that  I  might  tell  what  occurred  to-day  at  the 
meeting  in  Manoa  valley." 

"But  do  you  know  why  I  was  unable  to  be 
there?"  Crane  asked. 

"Yes,  sir;  we  learned  that  you  were  in  prison. 
They  told  us  so  at  the  meeting.  But,  as  soon  as 
we  returned  to  our  camp,  we  received  a  message 
that  you  were  at  liberty  again.  The  agent  who 
pays  us  our  monthly  allowance,  sent  us  the 
message." 

"My  arrest  was  a  trick,"  answered  Crane,  "a 
trick  to  tie  me  up  so  that  I  could  not  carry  out 
any  plan  I  might  have  made.  And  the  trick 
worked  very  smoothly.  But  tell  me  about  the 
meeting." 

Which  Wanto  proceeded  to  do.  He  spoke  of  the 
confidence  with  which  he  and  his  men  had 
approached  the  meeting,  of  their  surprise  at  not 
finding  Kenneth  Crane  there,  and  of  the  insulting 
treatment  given  them. 


178  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"They  set  the  dogs  on  us,"  he  exclaimed,  "Yes, 
sir,  they  drove  us  from  the  place  with  wolf-hounds. 
If  we  had  had  our  cane-knives  with  us,  those  dogs 
would  not  have  lasted  a  minute.  But  we  had  left 
our  knives  here,"  and  Wanto  pointed  to  the  wall. 
"You  suggested  that  we  go  as  peacefully  as 
possible,  so  as  to  cause  no  suspicion.  But  how  we 
would  have  loved  to  destroy  those  dogs!" 

Crane  noticed  the  hot  blood  flushing  beneath 
the  swarthy  skin  of  the  Japanese,  and  he  inquired, 

"Have  you  been  a  soldier  in  the  Japanese  army, 
Wanto?" 

"No,  sir.  But  I  have  been  a  man-o'-warsman  in 
the  Japanese  navy.  I  was  in  the  battle  of  Sushima, 
when  we  destroyed  the  Russian  Baltic  fleet.  We 
showed  the  Russians  what  the  Japanese  can  do! 
And  now  these  fellows  set  their  dogs  on  me!" 

"Never  mind,  Wanto.  We'll  get  them  yet.  We'll 
make  another  plan." 

"By  all  means!  I'd  love  to  get  those  fellows 
in  my  power!  I'd  teach  them  respect  for  work- 
ingmen.  Now.  they  drive  us  like  vermin  from 
their  presence.     But  wait  till  I  hold  them!" 

"Well,  did  you  learn  when  they  will  meet  again?" 

"They  said  nothing  about  another  business- 
meeting.  At  present  they  plan  to  spend  a  week, 
or  two  weeks,  shark-hunting  and  tuna-fishing  in 
the  lochs  of  Pearl  Harbor." 

An  idea  flashed  into  Crane's  mind.  He  turned 
a  rapid-fire   of  questions  on   Wanto. 

"Are  all  of  them  to  be  in  the  party?" 

"Yes,." 

"When  will  they  start  for  Pearl  Harbor?" 


NIGHT  WORK  179 

"To-night.  They  will  meet  at  the  Cosmos  Club 
at  nine   o'clock.'* 

"That  means  they  may  not  start  before  ten. 
How  will  they  travel?" 

"In    Mr.    Deane's    limousine." 

"I  see.  I  see,"  and  Crane  chuckled  and  rubbed 
his  hands  together  as  he  rose  to  take  a  few  steps 
backward  and  forward.  The  plan  which  had 
dawned  upon  him  was  taking  definite  shape  in 
his  mind.  He  settled  himself  once  more  by  the 
side  of  Wanto. 

"See  here,"  he  said.  "I  think  our  opportunity 
has  come.  We  have  the  four  men  we  want,  just 
where  we  can  take  them.  Let  me  explain.  North 
of  Honolulu,  the  road  to  Pearl  Harbor  passes 
through  a  canyon.  That  canyon  lies  between  the 
wall  of  Salt  Lake  crater  and  the  hills.  There  we 
can  stop  their  machine.  The  road  is  very  quiet 
At  night  it  is  deserted.  There  is  no  possibility  of 
a  witness.  After  we  have  taken  the  men,  we  can 
lead  them  in  an  hour  to  the  place  where  I  mean 
to  hold  them.  What  do  you  say?  Shall  we  start 
for  the  road  at  once..." 

The  plan  was  plausible  and  pleased  the  Japanese. 
In  a  torrent  of  speech,  Wanto  explained  it  to 
the  men.  All  jumped  to  their  feet,  and  prepara- 
tions began  for  an  instant  change  of  camp. 

The  cabin  came  to  pieces  as  if  by  magic. 
Ridge-pole  and  rafters  were  bound  together,  mats 
and  canvas  were  wrapped  around  them,  half  a 
dozen  men  put  their  shoulders  beneath  the  long, 
sausage-shaped  package,  while  the  rest  of  the 
party  shouldered  bundles  of  bedding  and  baggage. 


180  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Fifteen  men  made  light  work  of  the  task.  In  ten 
minutes  they  were  ready  to  start. 

Studying  the  map  by  the  light  of  their  electric 
torches,  Crane  and  his  guide  had  been  planning 
a  route  which  would  take  them  through  the  most 
quiet  and  sequestered  part  of  Honolulu. 

"All  ready!"  The  long  line  of  shadowy  figures 
moved  across  the  crater,  Crane  and  the  Hawaiian 
boy  leading  the  way.  From  the  crater  they 
descended  to  residential  streets,  dark  with  the 
shade  of  many  trees.  Some  were  as  gloomy  as 
Punchbowl  street  itself,  though  none  were  so 
erratic. 

The  men  pressed  onward  briskly,  spite  of  their 
heavy  burdens.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  Nothing 
was  to  be  heard  save  the  shuffling  of  heavy  shoes 
and  the  quick,  sibilant  breathing  of  the  men.  No 
chance  to  meet  a  patrolman  on  those  quiet  avenues. 
An  occasional  pedestrian  saw  nothing  but  a  crew 
of  Japanese,  probably  returning  from  the  cane- 
fields. 

Through  the  town  they  went.  Now  it  became 
Sicattered  and  countrified.  Rice-fields  and  market 
gardens  alternated  with  little  homes,  all  dim  and 
vague  beneath  the  glimmer  of  the  stars.  Circling 
a  great,  walled  enclosure  where  was  a  school  for 
Hawaiian  boys,  the  party  came  to  the  King  street 
line. 

Now  Crane  was  on  ground  which  he  knew 
thoroughly.  The  guide  was  dismissed  with  a 
liberal  reward.  The  party  plodded  northward, 
past  the  end  of  the  line,  and  past  Fort  Shafter. 
They  came  to  the  canyon  leading  to  the  polo-field. 


NIGHT  WORK  181 

On  their  left  rose  the  rocky  wall  of  the 
canyon,  a  hundred  feet  high.  On  their  right  lay 
the  stream-bed,  concealed  beneath  its  clustering 
trees.  Only  the  road  showed  white  before  them, 
a  ribbon  which  kept  unrolling  as  they  went. 

How  mysterious  the  place  seemed!  As  they 
hurried  along,  a  sea  of  impressions  might 
have  surged  through  .their  minds, — thoughts 
which  might  be  set  down  in  short,  jerky  sentences, 
— fragments  of  recollections,  questions,  hopes 
and  fears.  But  somehow  they  seemed  to  have  no 
time  to  think.  Probably  their  minds  were  not  of 
the  introspective  sort.  All  minds  were  bent  on 
progress,  for  only  a  little  farther  on  was  the  place 
where  they  would  set  the  trap. 

Just  beyond  the  entrance  to  the  valley  where 
lay  the  polo-ground,  the  road  ascended  a  short, 
steep  grade.  There  Deane's  machine  would  have 
to  slacken  speed,  and  there  Crane's  party  stopped. 
Posts  were  driven  into  the  ground  on  either  side 
of  the  way.  The  canvas  sheet  was  stretched 
between  them  and  securely  fastened  with  its  guy- 
ropes.  Below  this  barricade,  for  a  hundred  yards, 
the  men  stationed  themselves  at  short  intervals. 
They  would  stand  by  the  wayside,  and  when  the 
machine  arrived  and  they  came  into  the  glare  of  its 
headlights,  they  would  jump  and  shout  and  wave 
a  warning  to  let  the  driver  know  there  was 
"danger  ahead,"  for  they  had  no  wish  that  he 
should  actually  charge  their  barricade.  It  was 
only  a  blind. 

Crane  consulted  his  watch.  Ten  o'clock!  They 
might  be  there  at  any  minute. 


182  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

So  far,  all  had  been  hurry  and  rush.  The  minds 
of  all  had  been  occupied  by  the  desire  to  "get 
ahead."  Now  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 
Now  they  grew  nervous  under  the  strain  of 
listening,  and  doubts  began  to  crop  up.  What  if 
some  other  machine  should  arrive  before  the  one 
they  expected?  But  there  was  little  chance  of 
that.  Automobiles  were  few  on  that  road,  even 
by  day-time.  And  this  was  night,  when  usually 
there  were  none. 

And  then  came  the  question.  What  would  they 
do  with  the  auto?  If  they  left  it  in  the  canyon,  it 
would  be  found  next  morning.  Inquiries  would  be 
made  for  the  occupants.  All  the  country  in  that 
vicinity  would  be  searched.  It  would  lead  certainly 
to  the  discovery  of  the  prisoners. 

But  the  time  had  gone  by  for  figuring  on  that 
problem.  A  low  ejaculation  from  one  of  the  men 
warned  Crane.     He  bent  his  head  to  listen. 

The  car  was  coming.  Faint  and  far  at  first,  then 
growing  nearer  and  clearer,  the  sound  drifted 
toward  them  through  the  pure  night  air.  The 
great  limousine,  with  unmuffled  exhaust,  was 
roaring  along  the  road. 

Now  the  car  was  entering  the  canyon.  The 
rocky  walls  re-echoed  and  redoubled  the  noise. 
Nearer  and  nearer.  "All  ready."  Then  a  tremen- 
dous burst  of  acetylene  light,  a  cloud  of  dust,  a 
vision  of  dark  figures  leaping  and  gesticulating  by 
the  wayside,  a  hurricane  of  yells,  a  mad  squealing 
of  brakes  recklessly  applied,  and  the  car  stood 
panting  where  it  almost  touched  the  barricade. 


NIGHT  WORK  183 

Doors  were  thrown  open.  Heads  were  thrust 
out.  Charley  Deane  relinquished  the  wheel  and 
jumped  to  the  road  with  the  rest.  The  manager 
and  officers  of  the  X  Sugar  Company  gathered 
before  the  canvas  screen,  wondering  why  the  way 
was  barred. 

But  they  did  not  see  the  brown  figures  stealing 
up  behind  them.  In  an  instant  loops  of  cord  had 
been  thrown  around  the  arms  and  legs  of  each. 
The  Japanese,  quick  at  cats  and  strong  as  tigers, 
were  upon  them.  Even  the  ponderous  Atten  was 
tripped  and  tied. 

Of  course,  there  was  a  series  of  outcries.  But 
those  cries  were  stopped  instantly  with  wads  of 
cotton-waste,  thrust  into  the  mouths  of  the 
prisoners.  Then  they  were  rudely  jerked  to  their 
feet.  Each  was  held  from  behind,  while  in  front 
a  pugnacious  Jap  flourished  a  "ferocious-looking" 
cane-knife.  The  light  of  the  head-lamps  flashed 
on  the  cold  steel. 

Crane  came  before  their  line  to  pronounce  his 
ultimatum.  He  drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked 
them  over.  His  prisoners!  So  arrogant  a  few 
brief  hours  before!  Now,  a  dejected  group  of 
captives.  His  to  command!  Well,  he  must  let 
them  feel  his  authority. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  "If  you  will  come  with 
us  peacefully,  no  particular  harm  will  be  done  to 
you.  Your  feet  will  be  untied,  and  you  can  walk 
comfortably.  But,  if  you  won't  come  peacefully, 
you'll  come  anyhow,  and  you'll  be  the  worse  for 
wear." 

One   by   one,    each   of   the   prisoners    bowed   in 


184  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

submission.  Their  feet  were  unfastened.  All  were 
ready  to  start.     But  how  about  the  limousine? 

Crane  decided  to  run  it  up  to  the  polo-field  for 
the  time-being.  That  was  done,  and  the  party 
turned  toward  the  hills  and  plunged  into  the  deep 
ravine  which  held  the  trail.  Up  the  rough  track 
they  went.  Broken  bits  of  rock  rattled  under  foot. 
All  of  the  prisoners  were  men  grown  soft,  and 
unaccustomed  to  hill-climbing.  They  would  have 
fared  badly  had  not  a  pair  of  Japanese  been  behind 
each,  pushing  him  forward,  supporting  half  his 
weight.  But,  with  such  help,  progress  was  swift. 
In  an  hour's  time,  they  were  approaching  the 
bungalow. 

White  and  ghostly  in  the  starlight,  it  loomed 
before  them.  Crane  hurried  to  the  door  to  try  his 
bunch  of  keys.  Key  after  key  rattled  in  the  lock 
and  was  rejected.  Would  none  fit?  Then  came 
the  grating  of  a  bolt,  the  creak  of  rusty  hinges,  and 
a  black  square  revealed  by  the  door  slowly 
swinging.  Crane  picked  up  his  electric  torch  and 
flashed  its  glare  within  the  house. 

So  far,  all  he  had  known  of  its  interior  had 
been  what  he  could  glimpse  through  the 
windows.  Some  of  the  shades  had  been  drawn. 
He  had  been  able  to  learn  but  little.  Now  he  looked 
around  him  with  eager  curiosity.  The  rest  of  the 
party  waited  outside,  glad  of  a  chance  to  ease 
their  throbbing  lungs. 

The  door  gave  directly  into  a  room  which 
resembled  the  cabin  of  a  sailing-ship.  It  was 
square,  with  a  square  table  in  its  center,  and  above 
that  table  a  broad  skylight  where  hung  a  bronze 


NIGHT  WORK  185 

lamp.  Guy-chains  ran  from  the  body  of  the  lamp 
to  the  comers  of  the  skylight.  The  walls  of  the 
room  were  ornamented  with  nautical  views. 
The  pictures  were  not  hung  by  wires,  but  the 
frames  were  firmly  screwed  to  the  panelling.  In 
each  picture  a  four-masted  ship,  flying  the  Amer- 
ican flag,  was  conspicuous.  The  whole  place  had 
a  flavor  as  "salty"  as  the  ocean  itself. 

On  the  left  hand  a  door  gave  entrance  to  the 
kitchen  which  Crane  had  noticed  as  fitted  up  like 
a  ship's  galley  or  kitchen.  At  the  rear  of  the 
room  there  were  two  doors  which  he  hurried  to 
open. 

It  was  as  he  expected;  they  opened  into  bed- 
rooms— rooms  fitted  up  like  the  state-rooms  of  a 
steamer.  In  each  he  saw  a  pair  of  berths.  Every- 
thing was  as  neat  and  tidy  as  though  the  steward 
just  then  had  finished  his  work. 

Good!  Here  were  four  sleeping-places.  There 
would  be  no  difficulty  about  providing  proper 
quarters  for  the  prisoners.  But  Crane's  mind 
recurred  to  the  motor-car,  left  standing  at  the 
edge  of  the  polo-ground.  While  one  of  the 
Japanese  knelt  on  the  table,  coaxing  a  light  to  the 
wick  of  the  lamp,  he  returned  to  the  porch,  and 
signed  to  his  men  to  free  the  mouths  of  the 
prisoners. 

"Who  is  the  owner  of  the  car?"  he  inquired. 

Deane  stepped  forward. 

"There  are  two  ways  in  which  I  can  dispose  of 
your  machine,"  said  Crane.  "I  can  run  it  into 
Pearl  Harbor,  at  a  place  where  it  will  sink.  Or 
you  can  give  me  a  note  to  the  manager  of  the 


186  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

garage  in  Honolulu,  where  you  are  accustomed  to 
leave  it,  and  I  will  drive  the  car  into  the  city  and 
leave  it  in  his  care.  Now,  will  you  write  that 
note?" 

Certainly,  Mr.  Deane  would  write  that  note. 
His  fountain-pen  came  out.  So  did  a  sheet  from 
his  note-book.  Now  the  lamp  above  the  table 
was  ablaze.    Beneath  its  light  he  wrote  as  follows : 

Manager  of  the  Crossroads  Gsurage : 
Dear  Sir: 

Please  care  for  my  machine  until  I  call  for  it. 
Yours, 

Charles  W.  Deane. 

Crane  glanced  over  the  message. 

"Where  is  this  garage?" 

"Right  opposite  the  big  hotel." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Deane.  Your  car  will  be 
returned  to  the  city."  and  he  ran  down  the  trail. 

As  he  drove  the  car  back  to  town,  humming 
toward  Honolulu's  commercial  quarter.  Crane 
decided  it  would  be  safer  not  to  traverse  the  down- 
town district.  No  knowing  whom  he  might  meet. 
Better  to  attract  as  little  attention  as  possible.  He 
turned  aside,  and  followed  a  circuitous  course 
which  led  him  through  the  shadows  and  silence  of 
Punchbowl  street. 

As  the  car  swept  along  beneath  the  trees,  the 
place  seemed  to  blend  with  the  spirit  of  the 
evening's  adventure.  What  a  night  of  plot  and 
mystery  it  had  been! 

And  what  a  day  it  had  been!     Crane's  thoughts 


NIGHT  WORK  187 

turned  back  on  the  events  of  the  last  twelve  hours. 
In  jail  at  noon;  bailed  out  a  few  hours  later; 
the  arrival  of  the  native  guide  with  the  summons 
from  Wanto ;  the  walk  by  night  to  Punchbowl ;  the 
sudden  decision;  the  rush  to  the  Pearl  City  road; 
the  breathless  wait  and  the  quick  capture;  the 
ascent  to  the  bungalow,  where  now  Crane's 
enemies  were  his  prisoners,  guarded  by  men  who 
hated  them  for  their  frauds  and  for  the  contempt 
in  which  they  held  their  employees. 

Down  the  quiet  avenue  he  came.  It  brought 
him  nearly  to  the  garage,  which  he  reached  a 
minute  later.  He  jumped  out,  thrust  the  note 
into  the  hand  of  a  sleepy  helper,  and  made  his 
exit  before  any  questions  could  be  asked. 

The  time  was  not  yet  midnight  when  he  entered 
the  lobby  of  the  big  hotel.  Brilliantly  illuminated 
by  arcs  and  incandescents,  how  its  sophisticated 
and  citified  tone  contrasted  with  the  scenes 
through  which  he  had  come  that  night!  Mentally 
he  compared  the  great  lobby,  with  its  thick  carpets 
and  gorgeous  upholstery  and  oil-paintings  in 
gilded  frames,  its  palms  and  bronzes  and  panelled 
walls,  with  the  cabin  of  the  Japanese.  Well,  he 
could  rejoin  them  to-morrow.  To-night,  he  might 
as  well  occupy  his  quarters  in  the  hotel — and  he 
entered  the  elevator. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  boy  studied  Crane  with 
a  curious  air.  Crane's  suspicions  were  on  the 
alert,  and  it  was  time  they  should  be,  if  he  meant 
to  carry  his  program  through  successfully.  He 
felt  for  a  dollar,  which  he  donated  to  the  boy. 


188  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"Has  anyone  been  prying  around,  making  inquir- 
ies concerning  me?"  he  inquired. 

"Why,  yes,  sir,"  the  boy  answered,  "After  you 

went    out    this    evening,     a    young    fellow  was 

scattering  half-dollar  tips  all  over  the  hotel.  He 

wants  the  boys  to  keep  tab  on  you,  and  let  him 
know  where  you  go.    His  name  is  Carding." 


XV 

THROUGH   DUST    AND    FOAM 

AT  NINE  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Crane  was 
sitting  in  the  lobby  of  the  hotel.  He  must 
get  back  to  the  bungalow,  and  he  must  throw 
Carding  off  his  track.  He  pondered  the  problem 
of — how  to  do  it.  A  dozen  schemes  presented 
themselves.  In  imagination  he  saw  himself  on 
the  brink  of  the  Pali,  removing  the  rails  of  the 
wooden  fence  which  guarded  the  precipice.  He 
saw  Carding  pursuing  him  in  a  motor-car.  He 
saw  the  machine  shoot  over  the  brink,  plunging 
into  space.  It  did  not  go  tumbling  over  and  over, 
but  fell  straight  and  steady,  as  though  held  by  an 
invisible  hand.  Down,  down,  it  went,  a  thousand 
feet  and  more.  All  four  wheels  seemed  to  strike 
the  ground  together.  And  then  it  disappeared. 
There  was  a  flash  of  fire,  a  puff  of  gray  dust,  and 
it  was  gone. 

But  he  decided  that  a  method  so  spectacular  and 
bloodthirsty  would  hardly  do  in  a  civilized 
community  in  the  twentieth  century,  however 
appropriate  it  might  be  in  a  motion-picture  drama. 
A  more  reasonable  plan  came  to  his  mind.  There 
was  no  need  for  delay.  He  hurried  out,  to  put  it 
into  execution. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  and  facing  the 
hotel,  stood  the  Crossroads  Garage.  Crane  waited 
in  the  office  while  a  chauffeur  was  filling  the 
gasoline  tank  of  the  machine  which  he  engaged. 


190  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

And,  somewhere  about  the  premises,  he  believed 
that  Carding  was  lurking,  ready  to  follow  him 
wherever  he  went. 

"It's  about  time  I  gave  that  fellow  the  slip,"  he 
thought,  "and  I  believe  I'll  do  it  this  time." 

While  he  waited,  he  leaned  back  in  a  wide 
wicker  chair  and  watched  the  hotel  across  the 
street.  Its  square  front,  its  square  doors  and 
square  windows,  gave  it  a  most  uncompromising 
air.  A  number  of  tourists  were  leaving  the  main 
entrance.  They  looked  very  spotless  and  com- 
fortable, the  men  in  cool  "Palm  Beach  cloth,"  the 
ladies  in  voiles.  Before  them  walked  a  guide, 
escorting  them  to  the  Capitol  grounds: — "Right 
this  way,  ladies;  we'll  show  you  everything.'* 

Crane  recollected  how  short  a  time  it  was  since 
he  had  been  as  new  to  the  island  as  they  were, 
and  then  his  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the 
chauffeur,  who  came  to  tell  him  the  car  was  ready. 

Presently  the  machine  was  bowling  up  an  avenue 
which  ran  through  the  pass  in  the  hills  behind  the 
city.  Crane  leaned  back  on  the  cushions  and 
watched  the  brilliant  tropical  pictures  as  they 
flitted  by.  He  caught  sight  of  an  avenue  of  royal 
palms  leading  through  a  luxurious  garden  to  the 
portal  of  a  mansion,  their  straight  smooth  trunks 
showing  like  lines  of  columns  in  a  classic  temple; 
of  a  great  iron  gateway  guarding  the  entrance  to 
an  enclosure  where  lay  the  tombs  of  the  kings;  of 
a  purple-flowered  vine  shading  a  portico ;  of  a  group 
of  Japanese  girls  coming  into  the  city,  their  dainty 
kimonos  as  fresh  as  the  flowers  they  carried  in 
their  hands. 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM    191 

The  freshness,  the  light,  the  color  all  around 
him,  called  to  his  love  for  the  out-of-doors,  for  his 
heart  was  young  enough  to  respond  to  the  subtle 
persuasion  of  sunlight  and  color.  His  eyes  drank 
up  the  pictures. 

How  delightful  it  was  to  be  rolling  through 
these  scenes,  without  effort,  on  the  cushions  of  a 
motor-car!  The  absence  of  all  exertion  seemed  to 
add  the  last  element  necessary  for  complete 
enjoyment. 

They  were  deep  within  the  valley,  now.  The 
road  serpentined  from  side  to  side  in  long  loops. 
On  either  hand  the  valley-walls  rose  so  steeply 
that  they  seemed  walls  indeed.  Over  those  hills, 
from  bottom  to  top,  the  many  tints  of  the  tropical 
jungle  wove  a  gorgeous  pattern. 

"What  a  glorious  drive!"  he  thought.  "High 
hills  on  either  hand,  and  gardens  all  around  us; 
swinging  underneath  the  palms,  on  a  road  as 
smooth  as  velvet.  I'd  like  to  go  on  riding  up 
and   down   this   road   forever.** 

As  they  went.  Crane  explained  his  plan  to  the 
chauffeur.  They  would  cross  the  island  to  its 
eastern  shore.  They  would  stop  at  a  place  on  the 
margin  of  the  bay,  where  a  missionary  had  built 
a  rest-house  for  the  use  of  those  who  might  be 
traveling  around  the  island  and  who  were  belated. 
Below  the  rest-house  he  had  built  a  wharf,  where 
a  motor-boat  lay  moored,  for  the  use  of  its  owner's 
friends  and  acquaintances.  Crane  would  pose  as 
a  friend.  With  the  launch  he  would  escape  Carding 
easily,  for  it  was  the  only  boat  of  its  kind  on  the 
bay.    When  he  thought  of  Carding,  he  rose  in  his 


192  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

place  and  looked  backward.  Another  car  was 
following  at  a  distance  of  half  a  mile. 

Losing  no  time,  they  reached  the  place  Crane 
had  in  mind,  for  it  transpired  that  the  chauffeur 
knew  its  exact  location.  But  Crane's  plan  was 
like  other  "plans  of  mice  and  men."  The  motor- 
boat  was  gone. 

"If  you  are  very  anxious  to  get  around  to  the 
other  side  of  the  island  by  water,"  said  the 
chauffeur,  "there  is  a  little  steamer  which  carries 
sugar  from  the  W  plantation  to  Honolulu.  I  could 
take  you  in  the  car  to  the  plantation.'* 

"How  about  the  deputy-sheriffs?  They're  an 
officious  set." 

"They  were  called  in  yesterday.  The  owners 
were  afraid  of  damage  suits." 

Hurriedly  Crane  unfurled  his  map.  A  track  led 
southward  from  the  place  where  he  stood.  It 
joined  the  main  road  at  a  point  perhaps  two  miles 
back.     He  indicated  the  point  to  the  chauffeur. 

"Take  the  car  and  wait  for  me  there.  I'll  walk 
across.  But  if  you  meet  anyone  who  wants  to 
know  where  I  am,  send  him  here,"  and  he  disap- 
peared down  a  path  densely  shaded  with  algeroba 
trees. 

All  this  had  passed  in  a  twinkling.  In  another 
twinkle,  the  car  was  turned  around  and  was 
re-traveling  the  main  highway.  It  had  not  gone 
two  hundred  yards  when  it  was  met  by  Carding's 
machine,  which  stopped  squarely  in  the  middle 
of  the  road. 

"Where  did  you  leave  your  passenger?"  Carding 
asked. 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM    193 

"At  the  boat-landing,"  the  man  answered,  and  he 
mentioned  the  name  of  the  landing's  owner. 

"Much  obliged.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  that 
fellow,"  and  the  machines  separated  and  went  on, 
each  on  its  own  course.  But  at  the  landing  there 
was  no  sign  of  Crane  or  of  the  motor-launch. 

"He  can't  have  gotten  away  in  the  boat,  or 
we'd  see  it,"  and  Carding  scanned  the  surface  of 
the  bay. 

After  wasting  half  an  hour  in  a  profitless  search 
of  the  vicinity,  he  decided  to  think  the  matter  over. 
For  a  while  he  studied  the  situation.  And  then 
a  light  burst  upon  him. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am!"  he  thought.  "I've  been 
lured  over  here  on  purpose,  for  that  fellow  has  no 
business  on  this  side  of  the  island.  He  lured  me 
over  here  to  lose  me.  He's  gone  half  a  mile  down 
the  road,  rejoined  his  machine,  and  now  he's 
speeding  back  to  Honolulu.  And  he  thinks  he  has 
me  here,  hunting  for  him.  Well,  I'll  spoil  that 
plan,"  and  dismissing  all  thoughts  of  pursuit  from 
his  mind,  he  jumped  into  the  machine  and  directed 
the  chauffeur  to  return  to  the  city. 

Meanwhile,  Crane  was  following  the  lower  road. 
About  the  time  that  Carding  decided  to  return  to 
Honolulu,  Crane  was  re-entering  his  auto  and  was 
beginning  the  journey  to  the  W  plantation.  Once 
again  he  could  lean  back  on  the  deep  cushions  and 
study  the  tropical  pictures. 

The  machine  swung  softly  along  a  red-dirt  road. 
Above  them  hung  the  cliffs.  Miles  to  the  left  lay 
the  sea.  Now  the  road  was  crossing  a  rolling 
range  of  little  hills.     At  one  point  it  ran  in  full 


194  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

view  of  a  pack-trail,  cut  in  the  foot  of  the  cliff 
where  it  sloped  out  to  join  the  plain.  The  side 
of  the  trail  made  a  deep  red  scar  against  the 
green.  It  was  shaded  with  tall  ferns,  and  beneath 
it  the  ground  was  covered  thick  with  vines.  Along 
the  track  a  line  of  mules  were  moving.  Two 
Hawaiian  muleteers,  picturesque  rascals  with 
broad-brimmed  hats,  kept  the  animals  in  motion. 

Although  there  was  no  sunshine,  for  the  weather 
was  very  gray  on  the  windward  side  of  the  island, 
the  combination  of  cliffs  and  ferns  and  trail  and 
pack-train  appealed  to  Crane  as  the  most  ideally 
tropical  picture  he  had  seen  in  the  island.  It 
seemed  to  breathe  an  air  of  remoteness  and 
romance.  It  harmonized  with  his  boyhood  dreams 
of  the  tropics. 

He  could  enjoy  the  landscapes  all  the  more  when 
he  thought  how  satisfactorily  events  were  shaping 
out.  Certain  that  Carding  had  been  left  hopelessly 
"at  sea,"  he  began  to  regard  the  trip  as  a  sort  of 
triumphal  progress.  With  the  enemy  outwitted, 
he  might  return  unnoticed,  in  the  plantation 
steamer,  to  the  harbor,  and  get  back  to  the 
bungalow,  if  not  precisely  in  the  role  of  conquer- 
ing hero,  at  least  unspied  upon. 

The  machine  topped  the  last  rise,  where  he  could 
overlook  the  whole  of  the  W  plantation.  The 
chauffeur  pointed  toward  the  distant  shore. 

"There's  the  boat  now,  and  they  have  steam  up," 
he  said. 

So  far  the  car  had  been  traveling  at  a  very 
moderate  rate,  for  the  man  had  been  warned  at 
the   garage   to    "take   no   chances   with   that   gas- 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM    195 

wagon."  Now  he  removed  the  muffler.  The  car 
darted  down  the  grade  and  across  the  plain.  They 
rolled  between  deep  fields  of  cane,  the  sound  of 
the  steamer's  whistle  in  their  ears,  and  when  they 
reached  the  shore  ran  up  the  little  wharf,  the 
heavy  machine  rumbling  over  the  planks. 

Smoke  pouring  from  its  funnel,  the  little  black- 
hulled  steamship  Manoa  still  lay  there.  Its  lines 
were  being  cast  loose.  Crane  settled  with  the 
chauffeur,  ran  across  the  wharf,  and  jumped  to 
the  deck  of  the  vessel. 

He  was  confronted  by  a  short,  sandy-haired  man. 
The  man's  beard  was  closely  cropped,  but  his 
mustache  was  very  luxuriant.  Captain  John 
Peterson  was  master  of  the  Manoa. 

"You  can't  travel  in  this  vessel,  young  man," 
he  said.    "We  carry  no  passengers." 

"Just  this  once,  captain,"  Crane  pleaded.  "I 
have  a  very  important  reason  for  wanting  to  make 
the  trip,"  and  he  tendered  a  twenty-dollar  gold 
piece. 

The  gold-piece  made  a  difference.  Peterson 
reconsidered  the  matter.  "But  if  this  gets  out,'* 
he  said,  "they  may  fine  me  five  hundred  dollars." 

"I  guarantee  that  I  won't  tell,"  answered  Crane, 
and  he  raised  his  right  hand  very  solemnly. 

Peterson  studied  Crane's  face.  It  seemed  to 
re-assure  him.  Slowly  his  fingers  closed  over  the 
twenty-dollar  piece.  The  coin  found  a  haven  in 
Peterson's   pocket. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  the  wheel- 
house.  "The  cabin  is  aft  there,"  he  called  over  his 
shoulder,  and  he  indicated  a  companion-way. 


196  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Crane  descended  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs  which 
led  down  into  the  little  cabin,  but  he  found  its 
atmosphere  overpowering.  Hawaiian  sugar  is  not 
the  pure  white  article  we  see  on  our  tables.  It 
is  a  crude  brown  sugar,  which  must  be  shipped 
to  the  mainland,  there  to  be  refined.  It  has  a 
slight  odor.  In  a  vessel  which  has  been  employed 
for  years  in  carrying  cargoes  of  Hawaiian  sugar, 
the  odors  of  all  the  cargoes  that  the  boat  has 
carried  seem  to  accumlate  and  build,  the  one  on 
the  other,  until  the  vessel's  hull  reeks.  What  had 
seemed  hardly  more  than  a  spicy  aroma  while  he 
was  on  deck,  quickly  drove  him  up  to  the  open  air. 

But  he  carried  a  camp-stool  with  him,  which 
he  placed  on  the  after-deck.  There  he  sat,  watching 
the  surf  and  the  shore.  He  heard  the  engine-room 
bell  clanging  for  "full  speed"  or  "slow"  as  the 
Manoa  threaded  the  channel.  White  patches  of 
coral  showed  on  either  hand,  the  water  lying  glassy 
green  above  them.  Overhead  there  fluttered  a 
tropic-bird,  its  two  long  scarlet  plumes  streaming 
behind  it.  Shoreward,  Crane  saw  the  white 
crescent  of  coral  beach,  and  beyond  it  the  fields  of 
the  plantation.  They  were  over-shadowed  by 
tremendous  cliffs,  rising  sheer  and  unscalable  two 
thousand  feet  or  more  above  the  plain.  On  board 
the  steamer  the  men  who  had  been  loading  the 
cargo,  now  lay  on  the  forward  deck,  talking  and 
laughing.  Crane  heard  their  strange  guttural  tones 
and  guttural  laughter.  Presently  one  of  them 
began  to  twang  an  ukulele.  What  a  change  from 
the  automobile! 

With  the   strange   scent   of   the   sugar   hanging 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM    197 

heavy  all  around  him,  while  the  sound  of  the 
native  music  mingled  with  the  unfamiliar  tones 
and  unfamiliar  language  of  the  men,  Crane  rested 
there.  The  little  steamer  steered  out  into  the 
Pacific.  The  trade-wind  was  gentle;  all  indications 
promised  a  smooth  run  to  Honolulu. 

And  a  smooth  run  it  was,  giving  Crane  an 
opportunity  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  the 
southern  end  of  the  island,  with  its  brown  volcanic 
cones  and  its  green  groves  of  cocoa-palms  along 
the  shore. 

Keeping  just  outside  the  reef,  the  Manoa 
rounded  Diamond  Head.  The  surf  was  not 
nearly  so  high  as  it  had  been  on  the  morning  of 
Crane's  arrival.  The  waves  washed  over  the  coral 
breaking  gently.  At  Waikiki,  the  afternoon  crowds 
of  bathers  were  on  the  beach  and  in  the  surf.  Some 
were  swimming  on  surf-boards  through  the 
breakers.  Others  were  riding  the  waves  in  native 
canoes,  which  hung  just  outside  the  reef  until  they 
could  get  a  favorable  start  on  the  inner  slope  of 
a  wave,  on  which  they  rode  gloriously  shoreward. 

The  steamer  was  approaching  one  of  the  canoes. 
It  was  plain  they  would  pass  it  at  very  close 
range.  An  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  Crane. 
What  if  Carding  had  guessed  his  plan  and  should 
be  waiting  on  the  wharf?  Why  not  go  ashore  here 
and  avoid  the  harbor?  He  rushed  to  the  wheel- 
house. 

"Captain,  will  you  stop  the  engines  for  just  a 
minute,  and  let  me  speak  to  that  canoe?  I'd  like 
to  get  them  to  put  me  ashore." 

The  master  of  the  Manoa  hesitated.     "I  guess 


198  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

it  would  be  a  good  plan,"  he  answered.  "If  the 
authorities  caught  me  landing  you  on  the  wharf, 
they  might  ask  embarrassing  questions,"  and  he 
rang  the  signals  for  "slow"  and  "stop."  The  bell 
for  "slow"  seemed  superfluous,  for  the  steamship 
was  very  deliberate  in  its  movements.  Speed  never 
had  been  contemplated  when  it  was  designed. 
They  drifted  within  thirty  feet  of  the  canoe. 

It  was  an  out-rigger,  of  the  orthodox,  native 
type,  hollowed  out  from  the  trunk  of  a  palm  tree. 
Two  native  boatmen  plied  the  paddles.  A  third 
paddle  was  held  by  their  passenger — a  white  man. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  about  Crane's  age,  and 
was  obviously  a  tourist.  Staring  at  the  steamer, 
wondering  what  was  wanted,  he  and  his  men 
waited.  One  of  the  Manoa's  crew  began  making 
voluble  explanations  to  the  men.  Crane  addressed 
the   tourist. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  am  in  a  great  hurry 
to  get  ashore.  There  are  special  reasons  why  I 
want  to  land  on  the  beach,  instead  of  going  around 
by  way  of  the  harbor.  If  you'll  be  so  kind  as  to 
put  me  ashore,  I'll  be  everlastingly  grateful." 

The  young  man  was  an  American  and  a  good 
fellow.  "Sure,  I  will,"  he  cried,  and  dipped  his 
paddle  into  the  water  to  bring  the  canoe  to  the 
steamer's  side.  "But  I'm  afraid  you'll  get  a  ducking, 
going  through  the  surf."  He  and  his  men  were 
in  bathing  costume. 

"Never  mind,"  answered  Crane;  "I  guess  I'll 
have  to  take  the  ducking,"  and  he  stepped  into 
the  boat,  where  he  squatted  in  front  of  one  of 
its  men. 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM  199 

"Good-bye,  captain,"  he  called,  and  he  heard 
the  steamer's  bell  ringing  for  "full  speed,"  as  the 
boatmen  paddled  away,  to  resume  their  wait  for 
a  favorable  wave.  One  came,  almost  on  the 
instant.  The  paddles  dug  desperately  into  the 
water,  their  strokes  came  like  lightning,  the  men 
shouted  as  they  bent  to  the  work,  and  then  they 
were  riding  shoreward  at  express-train  speed  on 
the  landward  face  of  a  breaker  which  roared  and 
surged  and  tumbled  behind  them.  Watching 
beach  and  palms  growing  larger  and  nearer.  Crane 
nervously  gripped  the  sides  of  the  canoe  with  both 
hands,  his  straw  hat  pressed  down  over  his  ears, 
as  he  faced  the  rush  of  the  wind.  Far  over  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  lagoon  they  flew,  and  then 
the  men  paddled  the  canoe  quietly  up  to  a  little 
wharf. 

Crane  stepped  onto  the  wooden  landing.  He 
thanked  the  tourist  heartily,  while  donating  half 
a   dollar   apiece   to   the   boatmen. 

The  landing  belonged  to  a  private  residence. 
Crane  hurried  through  the  grounds.  His  clothes 
were  fairly  dry.  It's  true  his  coat  had  soaked  up 
more  or  less  salt  water  from  the  flying  spray,  but 
it  was  drying  rapidly  in  the  tropical  sunshine.  He 
came  out  on  the  public  highway. 

On  the  farther  side  of  the  road  there  was  a 
public  park.  It  extended  to  the  very  foot  of 
Diamond  Head.  The  rough  scarred  walls  of  the 
old  crater  rose,  bare  and  brown,  above  the  trees. 
In  the  center  of  the  park  there  stretched  a  great 
oval  of  emerald  turf. 

That  oval  once  had  been  a  race-track.     In  the 


200  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

days  of  the  Hawaiian  monarchy,  when  gambling 
was  rife  and  stakes  ran  high,  large  sums  of  money 
had  changed  hands  on  the  course.  Since  then,  the 
automobile  had  come  in,  the  horse  had  gone  out. 
Horse-racing  had  become  one  of  the  "lost  arts." 
The  oval  had  been  converted  into  a  military 
aviation-field. 

Crane  heard  the  buzzing  of  an  aeroplane.  An 
aviator  was  at  practise,  wheeling  and  whirling 
above  the  field.  Down  through  the  air  the  biplane 
dropped,  until  it  almost  touched  the  turf.  With 
quick  recovery  of  planes  it  skimmed  across  the 
field,  then  spiraled  upward  through  the  azure  air, 
until  it  seemed  to  reach  the  sky.  Drawn  by  a  very 
natural  curiosity.  Crane  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
field. 

Once  more  the  aviator  volplaned  toward  the 
turf.  This  time  he  landed.  Practice  was  over  for 
that  day.  "One  of  the  staff-officers,  I  suppose," 
Crane  thought,  as  he  saw  the  man  climb  from  his 
place,  while  the  helpers  approached  to  roll  the 
machine  to  its  hangar.  And  then  he  recognized 
the  aviator  as  lieutenant  Sherrill. 

Crane  had  had  to  do  some  quick  thinking  that 
day.  In  an  instant  he  recognized  the  possibilities 
of  the  situation,  and  was  racing  across  the  field  to 
meet  and  greet  the  lieutenant. 

"Mr.  Crane,"  said  lieutenant  Sherrill. 

"Lieutenant  Sherrill,  IVe  been  watching  your 
evolutions.  Would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  take 
me  up  in  your  machine?" 

"It  certainly  would,"  answered  the  lieutenant, 
and  he  turned  to  his  men.    "Boys,  wait  a  minute." 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM  201 

"Have  you  any  special  object  in  wishing  to  make 
an  ascent?"  he  asked. 

"I  certainly  have.  I'm  very  anxious  to  get  to 
the  top  of  one  of  the  hills.  I  don't  mean  the  top 
of  the  range,  but  a  point  about  half-way  up.  It's 
a  few  miles  north  of  Honolulu.  If  you  could  put 
me  there,  I  should  be  saved  a  lot  of  worry." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  it  for  landing?" 

"Just  a  narrow  ridge,  with  a  trail  running 
through  the  brush." 

The  lieutenant  considered  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  picked  up  a  piece  of  pliant  cord,  perhaps  fifty 
feet  in  length,  in  which  he  hurriedly  began  to  tie 
knots  at  intervals  of  about  a  foot.  He  fastened 
it  to   the   framework  of  the   driver's  seat. 

"If  you  have  the  nerve,  when  we  reach  the  place, 
to  go  down  this  line,  hand  over  hand,  and  drop 
off  when  you  touch  the  trail,  I  can  land  you. 
Otherwise,    I    cannot." 

"Just  give  me  the  chance,"  said  Crane.  Already 
he  was  climbing  to  the  passenger's  seat. 

The  lieutenant  sprang  to  his  place,  gave  one 
look  at  the  fuel-guage,  and  started  the  engine. 
Two  minutes  later  they  were  sailing  over  the  city. 

It  was  Crane's  first  experience  in  a  flying- 
machine,  and  how  glorious  it  seemed.  They  sailed 
along  at  a  height  of  a  thousand  feet.  Straight 
below  them  lay  the  narrow  stretch  of  town  which 
fringed  the  shore.  Before  them  spread  the  harbor 
and  the  central  portion  of  the  city,  with  its  close- 
packed  Oriental  quarter.  To  their  right  were  the 
rice-fields  and  the  hills;  to  their  left  the  broad 
Pacific's  azure  plain. 


202  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

The  machine  was  not  speeding.  At  thirty  or 
forty  miles  an  hour  it  flew.  It  crossed  the  city, 
which  lay  like  a  map.  Above  it  they  went,  until 
once  more  they  saw  rice-fields  beneath  them.  Then 
the  Salt  Lake  craters  opened  out,  lying  like  great 
rings  upon  the  ground,  the  largest  filled  with 
sugar-cane,  another  with  salt  water.  Crane  could 
see  the  cottage  on  the  hill.  He  indicated  it  to  the 
lieutenant,  shouting  the  words  "white  cottage"  in 
his  ear. 

Sherrill  saw  the  little  bungalow,  and  steered 
straight  toward  it.  Up  the  trail  they  flew.  And 
now  Crane  must  descend  the  rope. 

Lowering  himself  with  cautious  slowness,  he 
gripped  one  of  the  knots  and  hung  in  the  air. 
Down,  down,  crept  his  hands,  until  he  hung  at 
the  very  end  of  the  cord.  The  lieutenant  shut  off 
the  power.  Flying  directly  against  the  trade-wind 
the  speed  of  the  machine  relative  to  the  ground 
was  slow. 

The  trail  was  just  beneath  Crane.  He  felt  the 
ground  touch  his  feet.  He  let  go,  ran  a  few  steps, 
lost  his  balance,  and  rolled  in  the  grass  by  the 
wayside.  Meanwhile,  the  plane  dipped  down  into 
the  ravine.  It  sank  for  a  moment  while  Sherrill 
was  starting  the  motor.  Then  it  whirled  away 
toward  the  lowlands  and  toward  Honolulu. 

Crane  picked  himself  up,  brushed  the  dust  from 
his  clothes,  and  stood  watching  the  flight  of  the 
man-made  bird,  as  it  skimmed  above  the  distant 
plain.  While  he  watched  it,  the  events  of  the  day 
swept  in  review  through  his  mind. 


THROUGH  DUST  AND  FOAM  203 

He  thought  of  his  journey  by  automobile, 
steamer,  canoe  and  aeroplane.  What  an  experience! 
Whirled  from  the  exotic  color  of  Honolulu's 
suburbs;  through  the  green  luxuriance  of  matted 
cane-fields;  then  over  a  turquoise  sea  and  across 
the  breakers  of  a  coral  reef,  to  finish  with  a  final 
delirious  plunge  through  the  sky.  Well,  here  he 
was.  He  had  returned  to  the  hill,  and  had  thrown 
Carding  off  his  track. 


XVI 

THE   MASTER   OF   THE   AGAMEMNON 

THE  four-masted  ship  Agamemnon,  deep  laden 
with  a  cargo  for  Honolulu,  had  sailed  from 
Newcastle,  New  South  Wales,  forty  days  since. 
Swinging  across  the  South  Pacific,  with  all  of  its 
tremendous  spread  of  canvas  distended  by  a 
snoring  southwester,  the  ship  had  breezed  into 
the  latitude  of  the  Trades,  had  sailed  past  a 
hundred  palm-covered  coral  islands,  had  been 
reported  "in  sight"  from  the  lighthouse  at  Diamond 
Head,  and  at  nine  o'clock  that  morning  was 
entering  Honolulu  harbor,  in  tow  of  the  tug  Kona. 

The  great  ship  made  a  noble  picture,  abounding 
in  grace  and  stateliness,  a  thing  of  beauty  and  a 
delight  to  the  eye,  as  sunset  clouds  and  gorgeous 
birds  are  things  of  beauty  and  delightful  to  the 
eye.  Straining  leisurely  at  the  end  of  a  mammoth 
hawser,  the  Agamemnon  glided  between  the  break- 
waters. Its  immense  yards  were  neatly  squared. 
Most  of  its  sails  were  furled,  a  few  still  hanging 
loosely  from  the  spars,  where  men  were  aloft  and 
at  work.  The  Stars  and  Stripes  were  fluttering 
from  the  monkey-gaff. 

The  Agamemnon  was  an  American  steel  ship. 
Its  long  smooth  sides  were  painted  white.  Its 
masts  and  yards  of  hollow  steel  were  white.     On 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  205 

account  of  its  color  and  its  speedy  voyages,  it 
was  popularly  known  as  the   Great  White  Flyer. 

Every  year  the  Agamemnon  came  to  Honolulu  to 
carry  a  cargo  of  sugar  to  New  York  by  way  of 
Cape  Horn,  for  on  those  long  voyages  a  sailing- 
vessel,  with  the  whole  interior  of  its  hull  from  top 
to  bottom,  from  end  to  end,  clear  space  for  the 
stowage  of  cargo,  is  a  very  economical  carrier, — 
no  space  taken  up  by  expensive  boilers  and 
machinery;  power  furnished  by  the  free  winds  of 
heaven.  If  all  went  well,  the  Flyer  would  leave 
Honolulu    three    weeks    later,    with   a    full   lading. 

Captain  James  Coburn,  master  of  the  Agamem- 
non, stood  on  the  after-deck,  while  the  ship  was 
being  towed  into  Honolulu  harbor.  He  wore  a 
black  slouch  hat  and  a  suit  of  dark  blue  serge. 
His  hands  were  thrust  into  the  side-pockets  of 
his  double-breasted  coat.  In  his  mouth  was  a 
long  cigar. 

Captain  Coburn  had  been  bom  and  raised  "way 
down  east"  in  the  state  of  Maine.  He  was  square- 
shouldered  and  red-faced  and  gray- whiskered ;  not 
over  tall,  but  of  great  breadth  and  tremendous 
strength.  His  methods  of  dealing  with  recalcitrant 
seamen  were  his  own. 

He  could  put  the  fear  of  Coburn  into  the  most 
disorderly  crew  that  ever  tried  to  argue  the  point — 
and  do  it,  not  with  an  automatic,  but  with  his 
own  bull-voice  and  two  hands.  A  year  before, 
when  the  Agamemnon  lay  in  Honolulu  harbor, 
ready  for  sea,  with  a  towboat  ahead  and  the 
hawser  stretched,  four  of  the  crew  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  didn't  want  to  go  around 


206  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Cape  Horn  in  Captain  Coburn's  company,  and  had 
jumped  overboard  to  swim  ashore.  But  they  had 
neglected  to  take  swimming  lessons  before  they 
jumped.  All  their  lives  they  had  remained  as 
ignorant  of  the  art  as  is  the  average  deep-water 
seaman.  There  they  had  floundered  at  the  vessel's 
side.  Coburn  had  observed  their  predicament,  had 
loosed  some  coils  of  rigging  and  had  allowed  the 
ends  to  trail  overboard  for  the  men  to  sieze.  With 
the  men  hanging  on  the  lines,  he  had  signalled  the 
towboat  to  go  ahead.  The  Agamemnon  had  left 
harbor  with  the  men  dragging  alongside.  When 
the  ship  was  outside  and  the  towline  had  been 
cast  off,  the  captain  had  leaned  over  the  rail  to 
look  down  at  the  would-be  runaways.  There  they 
hung.  An  inquisitive  shark  or  two  sniffed  around 
them. 

"Well,  boys,  do  you  want  to  go  to  New  York, 
or  do  you  want  to  stay  here?"  he  inquired. 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake,  captain,  take  us  on  board 
and  we'll  be  good." 

Then  they  were  hoisted  in,  over  the  rail,  while 
the  Great  White  Flyer  spread  its  sails  for  Cape 
Horn  and  New  York. 

Such  were  captain  Coburn's  methods — simple 
but  effective. 

That  morning  he  puffed  his  cigar  with  a  very 
complacent  air  as  he  noted  the  neat  appearance 
of  his  ship.  All  around  him,  varnished  mahogany 
and  burnished  brass  and  polished  paint  reflected 
the  tropical  sun.  He  looked  across  the  golden 
ripple  on  the  water  to  where  the  boat-house  of 
the    Honolulu    Yacht    Club   rose   against   a   back- 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  207 

ground  of  royal  palms.  A  mile  away  he  saw  the 
rusty  slopes  of  Punchbowl,  and  beyond  them  the 
bright  green  of  higher  hills,  lifting  tall  summits 
against  a  stupendous  roll  of  pearly,  trade-wind 
clouds. 

"This  is  God's  own  country,"  he  thought,  "and 
we  must  have  a  week  or  two  on  shore." 

As  soon  as  the  ship  was  at  the  dock,  he  was 
ashore,  to  report  the  vessel  at  the  custom-house, 
and  to  interview  the  consignees,  and  to  visit  the 
office  of  the  Advertiser  to  make  sure  that  the 
paper  would  note  the  fact  that  the  Great  White 
Flyer  had  made  the  record  run  of  the  season  from 
Australia.  Later,  he  took  up  with  his  wife  and 
daughter  the  subject  of  a  vacation  on  shore. 

They  were  at  the  lunch-table.  The  captain's 
wife  sat  at  his  right  hand,  his  daughter  at  his 
left.  Mrs.  Coburn  was  nearly  as  solidly  and 
squarely  built  as  her  husband,  while  their  daughter 
— a  little  girl  of  twelve — seemed  made  of  chips 
from  both  the  old  blocks. 

"What's  the  use  of  owning  a  bungalow  if  we 
don't  use  it?"  the  captain  asked.  "It's  three  years 
since  we  spent  any  time  there.  I  vote  that  we 
move  into  it  while  the  ship's  in  port." 

"But  it's  so  high  in  the  hills,"  said  Mrs.  Coburn. 

"And  what  of  that?  You'll  only  have  to  climb 
there  once.  Then  we'll  camp  there  till  we're 
ready  to  come  down." 

"Oh,  let's  go,  ma,  and  get  out  of  this  horrid 
coal-dust,"   begged   the   daughter. 

"Good  for  you,  Minnie,"  said  Coburn.  "A  ship 
discharging  coal  is  no  place  for  anyone  to  live,  if 


208  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

they  can  get  away.  And  we'll  have  a  chance  to 
keep  cool  up  there,  too." 

This  last  remark  was  inspired  by  the  fact  that 
Honolulu  harbor  seems  to  have  the  power  to 
collect  twice  the  heat  to  be  found  in  any  other 
equal  area  in  the  island.  Coburn  was  perspiring 
freely  in  his  blue  serge  suit.  Now  he  threw  aside 
his  coat  and  ate  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

The  coal  settled  it.  Life  on  board  ship  would 
be  a  compound  of  coal-dust  and  perspiration. 
While  Mrs.  Coburn  would  have  preferred  to  go 
to  a  hotel,  the  others  voted  for  the  hills,  and  to 
the  hills  they  would  go. 

Captain  Coburn  addressed  the  first  mate  of  the 
Agamemnon.  That  officer  faced  the  captain  at 
the   square   table,   built  for   four. 

"Mr.  Swanson,  I'll  expect  you  to  take  charge  of 
the  ship  during  my  absence.  You  know  where 
the  bungalow  is,  so  that  you  can  communicate 
with  me  if  there  is  any  necessity." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  captain  turned  to  a  Chinese  boy  who, 
attired  in  a  long,  blue  gown  which  was  clean  and 
crisp,  stepped  softly  in  and  out  of  the  room, 
serving  the  meal. 

"Boy,  tell  the  steward  I  want  him." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  boy  returned,  a  minute  later,  with  the 
steward — who  answered  to  the  name  of  George. 
He  was  an  Englishman. 

"George,  we  start  for  the  hills  this  afternoon. 
We  have  a  bungalow  there,  which  we  make  our 
home  while  in  port.     I  intend  to  take  you  along. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  209 

This  boy  will  stay  here  and  look  after  the  officers. 
He  can  do  it,  can't  he?'* 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  Very  easily,  sir!  A  first-class 
boy,  sir." 

"Well,  make  out  a  list  of  the  stores  that  we 
ought  to  take  with  us.  We  may  be  gone  three 
weeks.  Make  it  out  right  away.  As  soon  as  you 
have  it,  call  on  Mr.  Swanson  for  four  men.  Give 
him  four  of  the  crew,  Mr.  Swanson,  to  get  out 
the  stores  and  carry  them  up  to  the  bungalow. 
Have  the  carpenter  nail  poles  to  the  sides  of  two 
boxes.  The  men  can  carry  the  stuff  that  way. 
And,  steward,  make  arrangements  at  the  market  to 
have  fresh  meat  and  eggs  sent  to  us  every  day. 
Once  a  day,  you  understand;  not  once  a  week. 
There's  a  good  stove  at  the  bungalow,  and  an  axe 
to  chop  firewood,  if  nobody  has  broken  in  and 
stolen  it." 

"Yes,  sir.   And  shall  I  bring  the  mosquito-nets?" 

"No,  no.  The  place  is  up  in  the  hills,  not  in  a 
sugar  plantation.     Now,  get  busy." 

It  was  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  when  captain 
Coburn  stood  on  the  wharf  and  reviewed  his 
forces.  A  hack,  which  would  carry  himself  and 
family,  was  in  attendance  just  outside  the  pier. 
Also  there  was  an  express-wagon  which  would 
carry  their  stores  and  personal  effects.  The  said 
stores  were  packed  in  two  open  boxes,  to  the 
sides  of  which  the  carpenter  had  nailed  strips  of 
one-inch  board  for  handles.  Between  these  pairs 
of  shafts  stood  four  members  of  the  crew.  Three 
more  carried  the  suit-cases.     The  steward  himself 


210  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

hovered  around,  racking  his  brains  to  make  sure 
that  nothing  had  been  forgotten. 

"All  set,  and  away  we  go!"  and  the  captain 
headed  the  procession  up  the  pier.  His  wife  and 
daughter  followed  at  his  heels.  Behind  them 
came  the  men  with  the  boxes,  while  the  suit-case 
carriers  and  the  steward  closed  the  column. 

But  a  tall  young  man,  wearing  a  brass-bound 
cap  and  a  blue  suit  plentifully  provided  with  brass 
buttons,  approached.  He  tapped  one  of  the  boxes 
with  a  light  bamboo  cane. 

"Are  these  things  from  the  Agamemnon?" 

"Yes,  zur,"  answered  one  of  the  men. 

"Then  they'll  have  to  pay  duty,"  for  the  young 
man  was  on  the  staff  of  the  custom-house. 

"Holy  Mackerel!"  ejaculated  the  captain.  "I 
wonder  what  these  fellows  will  want  next!  See 
here,  young  man;  just  take  a  look  at  those  stores 
and  you'll  find  by  the  labels  they  came  from  New 
York, — American  goods,  all  of  them.  And  these 
suit-cases  contain  nothing  but  personal  effects, 
necessary  for  our  comfort  and  convenience.  There 
is  nothing  dutiable  in  the  lot." 

An  argument  followed,  accompanied  with  an 
opening  of  suit-cases  and  a  reference  to  regulations. 
The  upshot  was  that  the  procession  was  permitted 
to  proceed. 

"More  trouble  getting  started  than  it  is  to  take 
a  ship  around  Cape  Horn,"  fussed  the  captain,  as 
he  superintended  the  loading  of  the  express-wagon. 
"Don't  put  that  box  on  top  of  that  suit-case,  you 
blank  fool!     Stand  the  cases  under  the  seat." 

In  a  minute  more  a  fresh  start  had  been  made. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  211 

They  drove  northward  through  Honolulu's  Oriental 
quarter.  Some  of  the  seamen  rode  in  the  express- 
wagon.  Others  walked  behind  it.  Gradually  the 
city  thinned  out.    They  were  in  the  open  country. 

At  a  leisurely  rate  they  rode  between  the  rice- 
fields.  They  came  to  the  ravine  where  they  must 
turn  aside  into  the  little  trail  leading  to  the 
bungalow.  They  looked  up  the  broad,  volcanic 
slope.  More  than  two  miles  away,  they  saw  the 
little  cottage,  a  white  spot  rising  from  the  green 
of  a  tree-covered  ridge. 

Hack  and  wagon  were  dismissed.  The  seamen 
lifted  the  boxes  of  stores.  In  Indian  file  the  party 
followed  the  trail,  the  captain  himself  in  the  lead. 
The  seafarer,  back  from  far  voyagings,  was 
climbing  the  hills  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  his 
island  bungalow. 

The  captain  now  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  white 
duck.  He  caried  the  light  coat  over  one  arm. 
With  his  right  hand  he  occasionally  waved  his 
white  sun-helmet  as  a  fan. 

While  they  were  within  the  ravine,  they  could 
see  nothing  of  the  cottage.  But  when  they  had 
climbed  to  the  ridge  where  it  stood,  they  saw  it 
only  half  a  mile  away.  The  afternoon  sun  was 
reflected  brightly  from  its  white  front.  And  from 
the  chimney  there  curled  a  wreath  of  smoke. 
"Someone  has  broken  in,"  and  the  captain 
expressed  his  opinion  of  trespassers  in  terms  which 
were  more  professional  than  polite. 

"Here!  Andrew,  Axel,"  he  called,  "Hurry  up 
with  those  boxes.  We'll  turn  them  out,  as  soon 
as  we  get  there.'* 


212  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

But  when  they  came  to  the  cottage,  they  saw 
no  one  outside.  Yet  the  door  stood  open.  The 
intruders  must  be  within. 

The  captain  crossed  the  little  porch  at  a  single 
stride,  and  burst  into  the  room  which  we  have 
described  as  fitted  up  like  a  ship's  cabin. 

"Have  they  turned  this  place  into  a  jail?"  he 
stormed. 

Four  men,  all  of  them  well-dressed  and  respectable 
in  appearance,  were  tied  hand  and  foot  to  as  many 
chairs.  Their  hands  and  feet  were  not  fastened 
together,  but  were  bound  to  the  legs  and  backs  of 
the  chairs.  The  face  of  each  was  partially 
covered  with  a  red  cotton  handkerchief,  such  as 
a  Japanese  laborer  wraps  around  his  head,  while 
at  work  in  the  cane-fields.  The  cloth  covered  the 
mouth  of  each  of  the  men.  They  said  nothing, 
but  their  eyes  were  very  appealing. 

The  captain  whipped  out  a  pocket-knife  and 
began  to  cut  the  cords.  Two  of  his  men  were  on 
his  heels.     He  signed  to  them  to  help  him. 

Each  prisoner,  as  soon  as  his  hands  were  free, 
tore  the  handkerchief  from  his  face,  and  began 
to  pull  a  gag  from  his  mouth — a  gag  consisting 
of  a  bunch  of  cotton-waste  such  as  is  used  in  the 
engine-room  of  a  steamer.  They  hurried  to  the 
open  air,  where  they  coughed  out  bits  of  the 
cotton.  Mrs.  Coburn  and  her  daughter,  who  had 
been  peeping  in  at  the  doorway,  drew  back  to 
let  them  pass.    The  lady's  air  was  very  disdainful. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  asked  the  captain. 

The  president  undertook  to  be  spokesman  for 
the  prisoners. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  213 

"We  are  the  victims  of  a  dastardly  outrage,  sir," 
he  sputtered;  "a  dastardly  outrage." 

"How*s  that?" 

"I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  explain  in  full, 
and  to  offer  you  my  very  sincere  thanks  for  your 
assistance,  after  we  have  refreshed  ourselves  with 
a  little  drinking-water." 

"All  right,"  and  the  four  men  hurried  to  one 
of  the  rain-water  tanks,  from  which  they  drew  a 
bucketful  of  water. 

"Come  inside,"  said  the  captain,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  that  they  were  ready,  "and  1*11  hear  your 
explanation." 

He  ushered  them  to  chairs.  All  took  places 
around  the  square  table.  Above  the  table  there 
was  a  skylight,  a  combination  of  glass  and  brass 
and  polished  mahogany,  through  which  the  light 
fell  strongly  on  the  white  cloth.  What  with  the 
marine  skylight  and  the  marine  views  on  the 
walls  and  the  ship's  furniture,  the  setting  was 
very  nautical. 

The  president  cleared  his  throat  once  more. 
The  captain  prepared  to  listen.  His  wife  and 
daughter,  who  betrayed  an  equal  interest,  rested 
in  deep  wicker  chairs  which  stood  on  the  verandah 
just  without  the  door. 

The  president  sketched  in  brief  outline  the 
adventure  of  the  night  before ;  the  departure  of  the 
party  from  the  Cosmos  Club  for  a  week's  shark- 
hunting  and  tuna-fishing  in  the  lochs  of  Pearl 
harbor;  the  "hold-up"  in  the  canyon  which  lay 
between  Salt  Lake  crater  and  the  hills;  Crane's 
departure  to  return  the  limousine  to  its  garage. 


214  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"The  man  at  the  bottom  of  this  pernicious  piece 
of  work  is  known  to  one  of  us,"  the  president 
explained,  and  he  turned  to  Frank  Atten.  "There- 
fore we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  apprehending 
the  fellow;  we'll  have  no  trouble  in  handling  him, 
for  his  methods  appear  to  be  altogether  childish. 
Why,  he  left  us  last  night  without  giving  his 
helpers  any  directions  as  to  the  treatment  we 
should  receive.  At  first  the  Japanese  wanted  us 
to  sleep  in  the  open.  Then  they  found  that  the 
house  would  not  afford  accommodation  for  their 
entire  party.  After  quarreling  among  themselves 
as  to  who  should  occupy  the  rooms,  they  settled 
the  matter  by  giving  the  rooms  to  us,  while  they 
pitched  their  camp  behind  the  building." 

"I  suppose  they  placed  a  guard  over  you." 

"Indeed  they  did." 

"But  you  haven't  explained  what  has  become 
of  them,  and  how  it  came  about  that  we  found 
you  gagged  and  bound." 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  They  appeared  to  be  very 
ill-provided  with  food.  A  little  rice  was  all  they 
had.  But  they  allowed  us  to  share  it.  We  had 
a  meager  breakfast  and  a  worse  lunch.  This 
afternoon  we  heard  a  great  chattering  among  them. 
We  went  outside,  to  see  what  had  happened.  A 
deer  had  wandered  almost  into  the  camp.  The 
men  were  handling  their  knives,  all  of  them  eager 
to  start  on  a  hunt  which  would  supply  them  with 
fresh  meat.  Our  manager  understands  the 
Japanese  language.  It  appeared  that  all  of  them 
wanted  to  go  on  the  hunt.  Not  one  of  them  was 
willing  to  remain  as  a  guard,   and  the  upshot  of 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  215 

their  argument  was  that  they  decided  to  tie  us 
up,  and  tied  up  we  were.  You  saw  how  well  they 
had  done  their  work." 

"But  what  was  their  motive  in  bringing  you 
here  in  the  first  place?" 

"A  gang  of  discharged  laborers,  bent  on 
revenge." 

"But  you  say  they  were  led  by  a  white  man." 

"He  told  us  nothing  as  to  his  motives  or 
intentions.  We  are  as  much  in  the  dark  concern- 
ing them  as  you  are." 

"Well,  you  are  free  now.  I  guess  the  best  thing 
for  you  to  do  is  to  make  your  escape." 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  seamen  came  to  the 
door. 

"There's  a  gang  of  Japs  coming,  zur." 

Everyone  hurried  outside.  Down  the  trail  from 
the  higher  hills  a  number  of  Japanese  were  coming. 
On  the  shoulders  of  two  of  the  men  there  rested 
a  pole,  from  which  hung  the  body  of  a  deer. 

The  captain  and  his  party  had  come  to  the 
rear  of  the  bungalow.  In  a  moment  the  Japanese 
caught  sight  of  them.  They  broke  into  an  excited 
chatter.  Then  they  laid  the  deer  on  the  ground. 
Flourishing  their  cane-knives,  they  came  on. 

"Look  out,  captain.  They're  dangerous."  This 
from  Deane. 

"Oh,  I'll  take  care  of  them,"  and  Cobum 
dragged  from  his  hip-pocket  his  inseparable 
companion — a  snub-nosed  Colt's  revolver,  of  45 
caliber,  loaded  with  dum-dum  bullets. 

Now  the  Japanese  were  within  speaking  distance. 

"Put  down  those  knives,"  the  captain  roared. 


216  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

The  Japanese  hesitated.  Their  leader,  Wanto, 
was  not  in  sight,  but  one  of  these  men  could  speak 
a  little  English.     He  came  forward  alone. 

"What  do  you  fellows  mean?"  Coburn  inquired; 
"kidnapping  people  and  bringing  them  to  my 
bungalow?" 

"But,  boss — please,  boss — these  all  four  men, 
velly  bad  men.  We  work  for  them,  we  cut  cane. 
They  no  pay.  White  men  buy  shares  in  sugar 
company,  they  no  pay  them.  Those  men  go 
Californee.  All  poor  men — these  fellow  no  pay 
them  nothing." 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,  captain,"  Atten 
volunteered.  "It  is  true  that  we  are  the  ofBcers 
and  manager  of  the  X  Sugar  Company,  but  we 
have  always  met  our  just  obligations." 

"You  say  that  you  are  the  officers  and  manager 
of  the  X  Sugar  Company?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Why,  I  remember  when  your  company  was 
organized,  ten  years  ago.  You  fellows  were 
peddling  the  stock  around  Honolulu,  and  you 
made  some  wonderful  promises.  The  returns 
would  be  immense.  Has  your  company  paid  a 
dividend   yet?" 

"We  have  been  putting  everything  into  develop- 
ment work." 

"Same  old  story.  And  I  was  fool  enough  to 
buy  ten  shares  of  your  stock.  A  thousand  dollars 
of  my  good  money  gone.  You  fellows  have  been 
drawing  liberal  salaries  and  living  like  kings,  while 
I  and  two  hundred  California  shareholders  never 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  AGAMEMNON  217 

have  received  a  cent.     I  shall  inquire  further  into 
your  case,  before   I   let  you  go,"   and,   muttering 
something  about  "rascally  scoundrels,"  the  master 
of  the  Agamemnon  turned  to  his  men, 
"Boys,  just  tie  these  fellows  up  again." 


XVII 

A    CHANGE    OF    BASE 

A  STORM  of  protest  burst  from  the  prisoners. 
"You  can't  do  that!" 
"Don't  do  it,  captain!     We'll  compromise." 

"If  you  tie  us  up,  you'll  take  the  consequences." 

"Oh,  I'll  stand  the  consequences,"  the  captain 
retorted.  "You  can't  bluff  me.  Here,  Andrew, 
Axel!" 

The  grinning  Norwegians  had  heard  him,  and 
were  hurrying  to  the  spot.  They  snatched  up  the 
cords  from  where  they  lay  on  the  verandah,  and 
started  to  throw  them  around  the  limbs  of  the 
prisoners.  But,  for  a  moment  Atten  was  neglected. 
There  was  the  crash  of  an  overturned  chair  as  he 
improved  the  opportunity  by  making  a  dash  for 
the  trail. 

He  did  not  run  very  far.  There  was  a  yell  from 
the  Japanese,  and  then  Atten  was  submerged 
beneath  half-a-dozen  pugnacious  orientals.  Within 
five  minutes  he  and  his  associates  were  as  captain 
Coburn  had  found  them. 

The  captain  still  stood  within  the  bungalow, 
where  he  had  supervised  the  tieing-up,  when  he 
heard  his  daughter  calling, 

"Oh,  father!  Come  out!  Here  comes  a  flying- 
machine. 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  2J9 

Coburn  came  out  to  the  verandah.  A  biplane 
was  approaching.  Straight  up  the  trail  it  came. 
And  they  saw  that  something  hung  below  the 
planes. 

The  captain  lifted  his  marine  glass. 

"There*s  a  man  hanging  from  that  machine." 

"A  man!" 

"I  guess  they  mean  to  land  him." 

At  that  moment  the  biplane  dipped  until  the 
trees  hid  it  from  sight.  It  re-appeared  a  minute 
later,  skimming  down  into  one  of  the  ravines. 
They  saw  that  the  man  no  longer  hung  beneath  it. 

"They  landed  him,"  the  captain  commented. 

Crane  hastened  up  the  narrow  trail,  the  trade- 
wind  blowing  freshly  in  his  face,  and  as  he  went 
he  looked  ahead  with  almost  feverish  interest, 
wondering  whether  all  was  well  at  the  bungalow. 
He  realized  his  limitations,  and  fretted  for  fear 
some  mistake  of  his  should  spoil  the  plan.  He 
was  no  Isaac  Newton,  nor  was  he  a  dime-novel 
detective,  whose  unerring  brain  might  plot  against 
a  thousand  enemies  with  absolute  certainty  of 
success. 

"If  ever  a  fellow  was  favored  by  fortune,"  he 
thought,  "I  have  been  favored  to-day.  I  only 
hope  my  luck  continues." 

Then  he  decided  that  his  luck  had  changed,  for, 
as  he  came  in  full  view  of  the  bungalow,  he  saw 
captain  Coburn,  with  his  wife  and  daughter.  Some- 
thing had  happened  to  change  the  situation. 

Coburn  greeted  him. 


220  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"Well,  young  man,  that  was  an  original  idea  of 
yours  for  getting  here." 

It  occurred  to  Crane  that  the  idea  had  not  been 
his,  but  he  didn't  try  to  debate  the  point. 

"Are  you  the  fellow  who  is  responsible  for  this 
business?"  Coburn  inquired;  "trespassing  on  my 
property  and  turning  it  into  a  jail." 

"I'm  the  guilty  party." 

"Well,  if  the  case  were  anything  else  than  what 
it  is,  you'd  have  landed  yourself  in  jail.  But  I've 
been  talking  with  your  prisoners,  and  I  guess  that 
you  and  I  have  a  common  ground  of  complaint 
against  them.  I  was  going  to  let  them  go,  but 
I  tied  them  up  again.  Come  in,  and  we'll  discuss 
this  matter." 

Crane  entered,  surprised  to  see  the  four  men 
bound  so  securely  to  chairs.  They  were  not  gagged, 
but  they  preserved  a  sulky  silence. 

For  a  moment  Coburn  was  busy,  grouping  the 
party. 

"Put  those  men  there,"  and  he  motioned  the 
seamen  to  move  the  sugar-planters  to  one  side. 

"Sit  down  here,"  and  he  waved  Crane  to  a  place 
at  the  center-table. 

Then  he  tossed  his  white  sun-helmet  on  the 
damask  cloth,  and  helped  himself  to  a  chair. 

"Now,  sir,  I'll  hear  from  you." 

Crane  and  the  captain  faced  each  other  across 
the  table.  On  one  side  of  the  room  sat  the  row  of 
sugar-planters,  dressed  in  white  duck  and  tied  in 
their  chairs.  Behind  them,  with  their  backs  to 
the  wall,  stood  the  seamen,  wearing  their  blue 
woolen  shirts  and  belted  trousers.  On  the  opposite 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  221 

side  of  the  room  Mrs.  Coburn  and  her  daughter 
rested  on  a  wicker  sofa.  Overhead  the  Pacific 
trade-wind  was  droning  steadily  across  the 
shingled  roof. 

Obviously  there  Was  nothing  for  Crane  to  do 
but  to  be  frank.  He  went  back  to  the  beginning 
and  explained  the  situation  as  he  had  explained 
it  to  the  lieutenant  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  in 
Honolulu. 

"If  anything  is  to  be  done  with  these  fellows," 
he  concluded,  "it  can  be  done  only  by  applying 
pressure  to  them.  That's  why  I  brought  them 
here." 

Coburn  considered  the  case. 

"Well,  young  man,"  he  began,  "I  rather  like 
your  methods.  They're  something  like  my  own. 
You're  a  man  who  goes  after  results,  and  results 
are  what  count.  I'm  inclined  to  let  you  go  ahead 
with  your  plans,  whatever  they  may  be.  But  you 
can't  use  my  bungalow.  My  family  and  I  require 
that." 

"We  might  camp  out  behind  the  place,  now  that 
we  are  here.  I  see  the  Japanese  have  pitched  their 
camp  there." 

This  was  emphasized  by  a  puflF  of  wind,  which 
brought  the  aroma  of  roasting  venison  and  the 
sound  of  a  crackling  camp-fire. 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"If  you  stay  here,  it  will  be  impossible  to  keep 
the  matter  quiet,"  he  objected. 

"You  mean  that  the  seamen  will  spread  a  report." 

"No,  sir!  The  seamen!  They  know  nothing 
but   what    I    want   them   to   know,   and   they    do 


222  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

nothing  but  what  I  tell  them  to  do.  But  we  have 
made  arrangements  to  have  supplies  sent  us  daily. 
Many   people  may  visit  this  place." 

Obviously,  the  place  would  not  do. 

"We  might  clear  a  spot  farther  up  the  trail,  and 
pitch  our  camp  there,"  Crane  ventured. 

"Well,  talk  it  over  with  your  helpers,  not  with 
me,"  Coburn  answered.  "The  less  I  and  my  people 
know  about  your  plans,  the  safer  it  will  be  for 
you." 

The  advice  sounded  good.  The  prisoners  were 
lifted  in  their  chairs  and  carried  within  the 
Japanese  cabin.  They  had  been  interested  listeners 
to  the  discussion.  Now  the  president  broke  his 
silence. 

"If  you  will  tell  us  what  you  want,  we  might 
be  able  to  settle  it  here  and  now." 

"No  doubt  you  would  be  quite  willing  to  sign 
any  papers  we  might  present,"  answered  Crane; 
"but  you  would  repudiate  those  obligations  as  soon 
as  you  were  at  liberty.  No,  no.  To  carry  out 
my  plans  will  require  time." 

"In  that  case,  why  not  adjourn  to  my  home  in 
Manoa  valley?  There  we  could  enjoy  comfortable 
quarters,  and  settle  the  affair  at  our  leisure." 

Crane  considered  the  suggestion. 

"The  old  fellow's  idea  is  a  good  one,"  he  thought, 
"provided  it  is  carried  out  according  to  my 
notions."  In  imagination,  he  saw  himself  luxuri- 
ating in  the  president's  home,  "reposing  on  downy 
beds  of  ease." 

"If  you'll  send  an  order,  dismissing  your  servants 
for  a  week,  so  that  there  will  be  nothing  to  prevent 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  223 

my  taking  entire  charge  of  the  premises, — .  But, 
wait;  how  about  your  wife  and  family?" 

"My  wife  and  family  are  on  a  visit  to  the 
mainland,  and  will  not  return  for  another  month 
or  more." 

But  Crane  was  suspicious.  Captain  Coburn  had 
returned  unexpectedly.  Might  not  the  same  thing 
happen  in  the  case  of  the  president's  family?  But 
"Foxy  Grandpa"  was  able  to  produce  documentary 
evidence  to  prove  that  what  he  said  was  true.  A 
recent  letter  from  his  wife  settled  the  point. 

Under  Crane's  direction,  a  letter,  couched  in  the 
most  absolute  terms,  was  drawn  up  and  addressed 
to  the  steward  in  charge  of  the  Manoa  valley 
mansion.  He  was  to  "take  the  servants  to  Palama 
for  a  week's  vacation,  or  until  ordered  to  return." 
He  was  to  remove  the  dogs  from  the  premises, 
and  was  to  lock  up  everything.  The  keys  were  to 
be  sent  to  the  president  by  the  messenger. 

Wanto  himself  carried  the  message.  He  was 
given  strict  injunctions  to  see  that  all  of  its 
provisions  were  obeyed.  He  realized  their  import- 
ance too  well  for  any  doubt  to  arise  as  to  his 
zealousness. 

The  sun  had  set  before  Wanto  started. 
Meanwhile,  captain  Coburn  and  his  party  had 
established  themselves  in  the  bungalow.  Crane 
and  his  prisoners  had  joined  the  Japanese  in  their 
camp.  They  lay  down  to  snatch  a  few  hour's  sleep 
before  the  return  of  Wanto. 

He  came  at  midnight,  bringing  a  positive 
assurance  that  the  Manoa  valley  home  had  been 


224  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

vacated.  He  had  seen  the  servants  established  in 
Palama.     He  brought  the  bunch  of  keys. 

Now  Crane  must  descend  the  hill,  for  it  was 
his  intention  to  go  himself  to  the  president's  home 
and  return  with  the  president's  limousine,  driving 
it  to  the  foot  of  the  trail.  This  was  the  machine 
whose  gray  hood,  gray  body  and  gray  tires,  had 
impressed  lieutenant  Sherrill  as  a  symphony  in 
gray.  Crane  would  use  it  to  convey  the  prisoners 
to  Manoa  valley. 

They  were  roused.  They  had  been  lying  on 
the  ground,  where  they  had  fallen  into  a  none-too- 
refreshing  sleep,  which  had  not  improved  their 
tempers.  In  sulky  tones  they  asked  "what  was 
wanted?" 

"We  want  you  to  come  down  the  hill,  to  the 
highway,"  Crane  explained. 

"What  then?" 

"I  shall  bring  a  machine  and  take  you  to 
Honolulu." 

"What  will  you  do  with  us  there?"  the  manager 
wanted  to  know. 

"You'll  find  out." 

"He  means  that  he  will  take  us  to  my  home  in 
Manoa  valley,"  the  president  prompted,  and  then 
he  added,  addressing  Crane.  "But  you  returned 
the  machine  to  the  garage.  Do  you  want  Mr. 
Deane  to  write  another  note,  asking  the  manager 
of  the  garage  to  let  you  have  it?" 

"That  is  quite  unnecessary.  I  shall  use  your 
machine." 

"Oh ! !    You  help  yourself  to  anything  you  want." 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  225 

"Quite  so.  You  have  been  making  a  specialty 
of  that  sort  of  thing,  so  far.    Now  it's  my  turn." 

Whereupon  the  prisoners  permitted  themselves 
to  be  led  toward  the  trail.  The  path  lay  plain 
before  the  party.  The  night  was  a  warm  Hawaiian 
night.  The  sky  was  spangled  with  great  tropical 
stars.  No  showers  came  drifting  from  the  higher 
hills.  The  prisoners  were  led  rapidly  down  the 
hill. 

They  came  to  the  foot  of  the  trail.  There  they 
halted,  and  there  four  of  the  Japanese  remained 
to  guard  them.  The  rest  of  the  Japanese 
accompanied  Crane  on  his  way  to  Manoa  valley. 

Two  hours  of  rapid  walking  brought  them  to 
the  place.  Standing  before  the  wall  of  coral  rock, 
Wanto  fitted  a  key  to  the  wrought-iron  gate.  He 
swung  it  open  without  delay,  and  the  party  pene- 
trated behind  the  shade  of  the  triple  hedge  of 
cocoa-palms.  They  ascended  the  winding  avenue 
which  led  to  the  verandah. 

Skirting  the  dark  outlines  of  the  mansion,  Wanto 
led  the  way  to  the  garage.  Again  he  had  made 
careful  note  of  the  key.  In  a  moment  he  had  the 
door  open.  There  stood  the  luxurious  limousine, 
with  its  upholstery  of  satin  and  velvet.  The  glare 
of  Crane's  electric  torch  flashed  on  its  gray  body. 

Cautiously  they  drew  it  out  into  the  yard. 
Crane  satisfied  himself  that  the  fuel-tank  was  full. 
Then  he  directed  the  Japanese  to  take  up  their 
quarters  in  the  garage.  They  had  brought  their 
blankets,  although  their  cabin  had  been  left  where 
they  had  pitched  it  behind  the  bungalow. 

He  started  the  machine,  and  turned  it  into  the 


226  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

avenue  of  palms.  The  heavy  machine  rolled 
around  the  curves  to  where  the  great  iron  gate 
afforded  exit.  As  it  went,  the  glare  of  the  head- 
lamps, glancing  capriciously  as  the  car  took  the 
curves,  showed  the  tall  white  columns  of  palms 
reaching  up  to  a  curved  tangle  of  fronds.  Crane 
had  almost  reached  the  gate,  when  he  shut  off  the 
power  and  applied  the  brakes  abruptly.  The  light 
showed  a  man  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  way. 

One  of  the  Japanese  had  accompanied  Crane, 
to  close  the  gate.  They  both  jumped  from  the 
car  and  hurried  forward  to  question  the  man, 
who  stood  in  the  full  glare  of  the  head-lamps. 

He  was  a  poor  Hawaiian.  The  Hawaiians  are 
an  improvident  race,  and  this  man  was  a  living 
exemplification  of  improvidence.  His  coat  was  full 
of  holes.  So  were  his  shoes.  His  battered  straw 
hat  no  longer  had  a  crown. 

The  Japanese  grasped  him  by  one  arm,  while 
asking, 

"Wha'  you  want?" 

"Poi!    Poi!"  and  the  man  pointed  to  his  mouth. 

"He  say  him  hungry,"  explained  the  Japanese. 

"But  why  does  he  come  here?"  asked  Crane. 

"Why  you  fellow  come  here?"  asked  the 
Japanese.     "This  place  no  soup-kitchen." 

"Want  poi.     No  can  sleep." 

Crane  reflected  that  a  hungry  man,  too  hungry 
to  sleep,  is  no  respecter  of  times  and  places. 
Crane's  nervousness  disappeared.  This  was  nothing 
but  a  native  beggar. 

But  on  second  thought,  why  should  the  fellow 
be  begging?     There   was  plenty  of  work  in  the 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  227 

cane-fields  for  such  as  he.  Apparently  the 
Japanese  thought  so,  too. 

"Why  you  no  go-to-work?"  he  asked.  "Why 
you  no  go  sugar  plantation,  dig  ditch,  hoe  cane?" 

The  beggar  tried  to  explain. 

"I  work  for  this  man,"  he  said,  and  he  pointed 
up  the  avenue.  Crane  judged  that  he  referred  to 
the  president  of  the  X  Sugar  Company.  "I  work 
for  this  man.  One  day,  I  drink  too  much  gin. 
Manager  fire  me.  Now,  I  no  can  get  steady  job. 
Work,  one,  two  day — no  more." 

"I  wonder  if  they  put  him  on  the  black-list?" 

"Yes,  Yes ;  black-list.  Tell  everybody  me  no 
good.  Some  day  I  take  cane-knife,  kill  this  fellow, 
if  I  no  can  get  poi.  This  man  and  his  friends, 
mean  fellows.  His  friend  eat  at  hotel.  He  eat 
poi — eat  beefsteak.  Me  look  in  window.  He  laugH. 
One  man  give  me  quarter  dollar.    Then  I  eat  poi." 

The  above  statement  did  not  enlighten  Crane 
very  much,  but  he  grasped  the  idea  that  the 
president  and  his  friends  had  amused  themselves 
at  the  beggar's  expense,  and  that  they  were  about 
as  popular  with  the  beggar  as  they  were  with  him. 

"A  fellow-feeling  makes  us  wondrous  kind." 
Crane  decided  that  he  must  do  something  for  the 
man.  He  sent  the  Japanese  to  the  garage  for 
some  bananas.  While  he  waited,  he  pressed  five 
dollars  into  the  Hawaiian's  hand. 

The  poor  fellow  was  profuse  in  his  thanks.  Now 
the  bananas  came — half  a  dozen  big  Brazilians. 
He  hardly  waited  to  peel  them,  in  his  wolfish 
eagerness.  The  suddenness  with  which  they 
disappeared  testified  to  his  hunger. 


228  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

While  Crane  watched  the  beggar  eat,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  the  man  might  get  employment  as  a 
stevedore.  He  took  out  his  note-book  and  hur- 
riedly wrote  a  line  to  the  master  of  the  Agamem- 
non. 

Captain  Coburn;  Dear  Sir: 

Here  is  another  victim  of  the  methods  of  the 
X  Sugar  Company,  a  poor  fellow  who  cannot  get 
work.  Can't  you  arrange  that  he  be  employed  in 
unloading  the  Agamemnon?  He  looks  to  be 
sufficiently  able-bodied. 

Yours,  Kenneth  Crane. 

Crane  tore  the  leaf  from  his  note-book  and  gave 
it  to  the  man,  with  an  explanation  that  it  might 
bring  him  work  if  presented  to  the  captain.  The 
Japanese  explained  where  the  captain  might  be 
found.  Once  more  the  man  was  profuse  in  thanks. 
Then  they  ushered  him  without  the  grounds.  Crane 
returned  to  the  driver's  seat  of  the  limousine,  and 
drove  the  car  into  the  highway.  Behind  him  he 
heard  the  wrought-iron  gate  clang  shut. 

He  was  alone,  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night, 
whirling  through  the  tree-shaded  avenues  of 
Honolulu.  As  he  went,  he  thought  how  one 
vicissitude  was  piling  upon  another!  How  sud- 
denly, from  time  to  time,  he  had  been  compelled 
to  change  his  plans!  As  he  guided  the  car  beneath 
the  long,  dark  lines  of  algeroba  trees,  he  wondered 
whether  he  should  find  the  prisoners  waiting  for 
him  when  he  returned  to  the  trail.  The  situation 
had  changed  its  complexion  so  frequently  and  so 
suddenly,  that  it  would  not  have  amazed  him  had 
he  found  them  gone. 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  229 

But  they  were  there.  One  of  the  guards  stood, 
a  dark  shadowy  figure,  on  the  highway,  to  warn 
Crane  that  he  had  reached  the  trail.  Other  dark 
and  shadowy  figures  approached.  The  car  swung 
around.  The  manager  and  officers  of  the  X  Sugar 
Company  were  escorted  to  places  within  the 
limousine. 

With  nine  passengers,  quarters  were  cramped. 
However,  there  was  no  time  to  argue  over 
such  points.  Time  was  flying.  Crane  knew  his 
way  now,  and  he  let  the  car  out  for  the  return 
journey.  But  at  no  time  did  he  unmuffle  the 
exhaust.  Swiftly  and  silently,  like  a  gray  shadow, 
the  great  gray  limousine  slid  along  the  road. 

Before  they  had  reached  Manoa  the  sky  was 
commencing  to  brighten  overhead.  Dawn — cool, 
quiet,  shadowless — was  descending  from  the  up- 
reaching  mountain-tops.  The  first  glimmer  of  sun- 
light had  come  to  the  hills  when  the  machine 
swung  into  the  gigantic  alcove  made  by  the  valley, 
stopped  for  an  instant  before  the  wrought-iron 
gates,  and  then,  as  they  were  flung  open,  ascended 
the  winding  avenue  of  palms.  The  car  whirled 
through  the  grounds  and  stopped  before  the 
garage. 

The  president  was  nodding.  His  night's  rest 
had  consisted  of  a  very  few  hour's  sleep,  snatched 
while  lying  on  the  ground.  The  experience  was 
telling  on  him. 

He  expected  to  be  taken  to  his  bed-room,  but 
this  formed  no  part  of  Crane's  plan.  The  prisoners 
were  herded  into  the  garage.  They  asked  for  cots, 
and  the   president  assured   Crane  that   the  house 


230  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

contained  a  supply,  which  he  could  point  out  on  a 
moment's  notice. 

He  was  permitted  to  do  so.  The  cots  were 
brought  out  and  set  up  in  the  garage.  There  were 
so  many  that  Crane  felt  moved  to  inquire  whether 
the  president  intended  to  furnish  a  field-hospital. 
It  appeared,  however,  that  they  belonged  to  an 
outing-club,  of  which  the  president's  son  and  heir 
was  a  member. 

The  cots  pleased  the  Japanese.  There  were 
enough  for  all.  The  garage  was  roomy,  and  it 
hummed  with  the  noise  of  installing  the  beds.  The 
Japanese,  who  had  had  less  sleep  than  their 
prisoners,  flung  themselves  down  and  prepared  to 
enjoy  their  rest.  Placing  themselves  before  doors 
and  windows,  so  that  the  prisoners  could  not 
attempt  an  escape  without  arousing  someone,  they 
were  asleep  in  a  minute. 

Meanwhile,  Crane  had  entered  the  mansion, 
For  the  time-being,  it  was  his  and  he  would  enjoy 
it.  Nor  did  he  feel  himself  to  be  a  trespasser. 
Whence  had  come  the  money  which  had  built 
that  home,  and  had  made  possible  the  delightful 
grounds  which  surrounded  it?  Did  not  all  of 
this  luxury  represent  dividends  which  had  been 
filched  from  the  stockholders?  Well,  the  stock- 
holders were  about  to  enter  into  the  possession  of 
what  belonged  to  them.  Better  days  were  dawning. 
As  Crane  entered  the  room  reserved  for  the  presi- 
dent's son  and  heir,  and  prepared  to  make  up  his 
night's  sleep,  a  delicious  thrill  of  accomplishment 
stirred  him. 

He  felt  as  happy  as  the  Prodigal  Son  exchanging 


A  CHANGE  OF  BASE  231 

a  menu  of  corn-husks  for  a  menu  of  veal.  But  the 
excitement  and  vicissitudes  of  the  day  and  night 
had  "gotten  on  his  nerves."  Throngs  of  hurrying 
pictures  flitted  before  his  mental  vision.  All  the 
experiences  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours  kept 
repeating  themselves  in  his  mind. 

How  he  had  deluded  Carding,  luring  him  to 
the  windward  side  of  the  island,  there  to  lose  him! 
But  had  he  lost  him?  Was  Carding  still  searching 
windward  Oahu  for  Crane?  If  so,  all  was  well. 
If  not,  who  could  tell  what  mischief  that  trouble- 
some young  man  might  accomplish?  Yes,  Carding 
was  the  one  fly  in  the  ointment. 

But  that  idea  was  eclipsed  by  thoughts  of  the 
success  he  had  had  in  handling  the  prisoners.  It 
was  true  he  had  grazed  disaster,  but  the  result  had 
transpired  so  that  he  felt  himself  stronger  than 
ever.  His  captives  were  completely  at  his  mercy, 
and  in  a  place  which,  shielded  behind  its  triple 
hedge  of  cocoa-palms,  was  wonderfully  secluded. 
Here  he  would  have  every  opportunity  to  tame 
them,  until  there  would  be  no  doubt  of  their 
keeping  any  agreement  into  which  they  might 
enter. 

Gradually  all  ideas  blurred  together  in  Crane's 
mind.  He  was  sleeping  soundly,  while  at  the 
windows  the  light  of  the  tropical  day  beat  against 
the  thick  shades  and  heavy  curtains. 


XVIII 

THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR  PLANTER 

WHEN  Crane  awoke  it  was  afternoon.  Six 
hours  of  sleep  had  refreshed  him  wonderfully. 
He  sprang  from  his  bed  and  hurried  to  raise 
the  shades  which  covered  the  deep  dormer 
windows. 

The  windows  faced  the  garage.  He  saw  the 
Japanese  bustling  in  and  out  of  its  door.  They 
had  raided  the  president's  pantry  and  were  busy 
with  preparations  for  a  late  breakfast.  Although 
only  laborers,  one  or  two  of  them  were  proficient 
cooks.  The  fragrance  of  an  appetising  meal  rose 
to  Crane's  window.  He  bathed,  dressed  and 
hurried  to  the  verandah,  where  the  table  had  been 
set. 

An  orange  tree,  spangled  with  golden  fruit,  grew 
just  outside  the  railing.  As  Crane  took  his  seat, 
he  reached  out  and  plucked  one  of  the  great  golden 
globes.  He  was  eating  the  fruit  while  he  discussed 
the  situation  with  Wanto. 

It  appeared  that  the  prisoners  had  given  no 
trouble.  Wanto  was  eager  to  get  Crane's  directions 
with  regard  to  them.  To  Wanto  life  meant  work, 
and  work  meant  carrying  out  the  orders  of  some- 
one above  him. 

"Have  you  fed  them  yet?"  Crane  inquired. 

"No,  no.     They  wait,  while  we  eat." 

"Well,  feed  them  as  soon  as  we  have  finished. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    233 

And,  while  they're  eating,  I'll  take  a  look  over 
this  place.  You  know,  I've  never  seen  it  before. 
I'll  find  out  what  sort  of  a  hotel  we  have." 

Crane  finished  his  breakfast  and  saw  the 
Japanese  start  towards  the  garage.  Then  he 
turned  to  explore  the  Manoa  valley  mansion. 

Ignorant  of  the  "plan"  of  the  house,  he  passed 
through  a  short  vestibule  which  lay  just  within  the 
main  entrance.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  vestibule 
he  came  to  a  great  carved  door  of  koa  wood.  As 
soon  as  he  passed  it,  he  found  himself  in  a 
square  central  space,  around  which  the  house  had 
been  built.  But  this  central  court,  instead  of 
being  open  to  the  sky,  was  roofed  with  colored 
glass  and  furnished  as  a  reception-hall. 

The  furnishings  fairly  made  him  gasp.  His 
eyes  roved  curiously  over  the  apartment. 

He  saw  a  great  square  room,  distinguished  by 
the  utmost  possible  richness  of  decoration.  Through 
a  dome  of  rose-tinted  glass  the  light  fell  on  a  floor 
that  was  a  riot  of  sumptuous  rugs,  with  huge 
white  pelts  of  the  polar  bear,  deep  and  fluffy; 
tawny  tiger  skins  from  India  and  leopard  skins 
from  Africa.  Each  lifted  a  round  head  and  opened 
a  scarlet  mouth  with  a  snarling  display  of  ivory 
fangs. 

Upon  the  rugs  stood  furniture  of  oriental 
ebony — high-backed  sofas  and  chairs  carved  in 
intricate  dragon  patterns.  The  dark,  heavy  table 
was  half  covered  with  a  bright  cloth,  in  the  center 
of  which  stood  a  tall  Japanese  vase  crowned  with 
a  great  cluster  of  chrysanthemums,  white  and 
lemon-yellow. 


234  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

At  the  end  of  the  apartment  a  wide  flight  of 
stairs,  carpeted  with  crimson,  led  to  a  gallery 
supported  on  arches  of  some  dark  wood.  Between 
the  arches  there  stood  bronze  statues. 

The  remaining  sides  of  the  room,  above  a  few 
feet  of  dark  panelling,  were  decorated  with  paint- 
ings which  impressed  Crane  as  very  novel.  Painted 
directly  upon  the  plaster  of  the  walls  were  sea- 
scapes— scenes  on  the  coast  of  China.  The 
pictures  were  outlandish  with  high-sterned  junks 
and  square-ended  boats,  with  high  square  sails, 
that  went  drifting  lazily  over  oily  bays,  between 
steep  rocky  islets  crowned  with  white  pagodas. 
Great  watery  mountain-ranges  of  pale  pink  clouds 
billowed  above  dim  horizons. 

Figuratively,  Crane's  eye  drank  in  everything, — 
the  rose-tinted  dome,  the  riot  of  rugs,  the  oriental 
furniture,  the  lofty  gallery  with  its  crimson  stair- 
case, the  carved  panelling,  and  the  paintings  on 
the  walls.  The  wealth  of  splendid  and  tasteful 
decoration  seemed  to  him  like  the  vision  of  a 
dream. 

"So  this  is  the  home  of  a  sugar-planter!"  he 
thought.  "This  is  the  style  in  which  he  lives! 
Look  at  the  luxury!  Here  he  has  been  living  in 
a  lovely  home,  surrounded  by  grounds  which  are 
a  blend  of  bliss  and  blossoms,  while  the  majority 
of  the  California  stockholders  must  look  twice  at 
a  dollar  before  they  spend  it." 

Nowhere  in  that  room  had  expense  been  spared, 
and  nowhere  could  there  be  found  any  evidence 
of  a  lack  of  taste. 

From    that    apartment    Crane    entered    another. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    235 

which  appeared  to  be  the  president's  private  study. 
There  were  books  in  plenty.  A  globe  stood  in  one 
corner.  A  great  carved  writing-table,  resting  on 
a  sumptuous  Persian  rug,  occupied  the  center  of 
the  floor.  The  room  impressed  Crane  as  being 
the  very  place  in  which  to  arraign  the  prisoners. 
He  summoned  Wanto. 

"Bring  them  in,  Wanto." 

They  were  brought.  They  were  not  bound  in 
any  way,  but  were  guarded  by  the  full  force  of 
Japanese.  The  Orientals  remained  in  the  back- 
ground, guarding  all  exits.  Each  of  them  puffed 
a  cigarette.  In  fact,  a  Japanese  without  a  cigarette 
would  seem  as  incongruous  as  a  tropical  island 
without  a  palm  tree,  or  Honolulu  without  a  tourist. 

The  prisoners  were  provided  with  seats  by  the 
side  of  the  table. 

Crane  presided  as  master  of  ceremonies.  He  sank 
in  a  deep  arm-chair  which  had  been  the  president's 
favorite.  Behind  it  stood  a  revolving  bookcase, 
on  top  of  which  there  rested  a  specimen  of 
Japanese  art, — a  bronze  statuette  of  a  Manchurian 
tiger. 

For  a  moment  Crane  sat  there,  looking  across 
the  table,  eyeing  the  men  before  him.  Pride 
stirred  within  him.  Only  a  few  days  before  he 
had  landed,  unnoticed  on  the  shores  of  Hawaii. 
To-day — he  was  absolute  master  of  the  lives  and 
fortunes  of  four  proud  and  prominent  citizens, 
men  who  had  despised  him. 

How  to  humiliate  them  most?  He  called  on 
Wanto. 

Coming  forward  to   the  side   of  Crane's  chair, 


236  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Wanto  took  the  floor.  He  gloried  in  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

"So,  you  are  the  men  who  would  defraud  us 
of  all  payment,"  he  began,  addressing  the  prisoners. 
"You  are  the  men  who  drove  us  from  your 
presence  with  dogs!  You  roared  with  laughter 
when  you  saw  your  dogs  pursue  us  to  the  gate. 
You  seemed  to  think  that  we  were  helpless.  Fools ! 
Do  you  think  that  brave  men  can  be  driven  to  the 
last  extremity  and  never  lift  a  hand  in  their  own 
defense?  You  paltry  fools!  Four  men,  unarmed, 
and  with  no  power  save  such  as  the  law  gives 
them.     You  had  not  even  the  sense  to  use  that. 

"You  swelled  and  strutted.  You  seemed  to  think 
that  you  were  gods,  gifted  with  supernatural 
powers  which  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  reach 
you.  And  yet,  the  second  attempt  we  made  to 
take  you,  we  took  you  as  though  you  were  a  bunch 
of  rabbits.  It  would  have  cost  us  ten  times  the 
effort  to  capture  your  wolf-hounds.  They  might 
have  involved  us  in  some  danger.  But  you!  poor 
paltry  foois!  white  rabbits!"  and  Wanto  paused 
for  breath. 

The  captives  listened  sourly  to  this  burst  of 
Japanese  eloquence.    Then  the  manager  snarled, 

"Tell  us  what  you  want  and  get  it  over." 

"You  surely  are  poor  paltry  fools,  as  he  says," 
said  Crane,  "if  you  adopt  such  a  tone  as  that,  in 
your  present  predicament." 

The  president  spoke. 

"It's  easy  enough  for  you  to  revile  us,"  he  said. 
"Here  you  hold  us  prisoners.  If  we  answer  you, 
you  will   silence  us  with  wads  of  cotton  waste. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    237 

thrust  into  our  mouths.  But  if  we  could  speak 
freely,  we  might  put  another  complexion  on 
the  case." 

"Humph!  Perhaps  you  would  use  the  old 
argument,  that  you  have  been  putting  all  of  the 
proceeds  into  development  work.     That's  stale." 

Atten  spoke  up,  but  in  a  more  conciliatory  tone. 

"You  seem  to  have  overlooked,  sir,  one  of  your 
helpers'  statements.  He  says  that  we  *have  no 
power  save  such  as  the  law  gives  us.'  But  isn't 
that  power  considerable?  It  is  true  that  you  hold 
us,  just  at  present.  But,  will  the  law  take  no 
cognizance  of  your  crime?  Will  no  inquiry  be 
made?  May  you  not  involve  yourself  in  a  desperate 
situation,  if  you  continue  this  course?" 

"And  you  seem  to  have  overlooked,"  answered 
Crane,  "that  you  are  dealing  with  men  whom  you 
have  driven  desperate.  Why,  if  I  gave  the  word, 
these  men  would  finish  you  as  quickly  as  your 
wolf-hounds  would  finish  them.  The  only  reason 
they  don't  harm  you  is  because  I  have  persuaded 
them  that  we  may  .  be  able  to  come  to  an 
understanding  and  a  settlement  which  will  be  much 
more  advantageous   than  your  death." 

The  expressions  on  the  faces  of  the  Japanese 
bore  out  this  statement.  Crane  saw  the  prisoners 
turn  pale. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  sympathize  with  you,"  the 
Californian  continued.  "You  got  yourselves  into 
your  present  predicament.  But  before  we  tell 
you  our  demands,  we  propose  to  tell  you  a  few 
things  about  yourselves  and  your  methods  it  will 
be  good  for  you  to  hear.    The  world  is  getting  too 


238  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

enlightened  to  tolerate  such  methods  as  yours. 
Men  have  come  to  know  that  real  prosperity  rests 
on  the  general  prosperity  of  all,  not  on  the  power 
of  one  man  to  rob  another.  The  methods  of  the 
robber-barons  of  the  Middle  Ages  have  been  left 
behind  us  with  the  Middle  Ages.  You  tried  to 
revive  them." 

"And  yet,  what  we  did  is  being  done  all  the 
time." 

**To  some  extent,  yes.  But  not  on  such  a 
wholesale  plan  as  the  one  you  followed.  Men  can 
always  be  exploited  to  some  extent.  But  when 
you  carry  such  methods  too  far,  they  are  driven  to 
rebellion.  Then,  look  out.  What  brought  this 
trouble  upon  you,  was  your  own  grasping  short- 
sightedness, your  desire  to  exploit  your  fellow-men, 
rather  than  to  serve  and  to  create.  And  yet  all 
the  while,  it  was  only  in  so  far  as  you  served  and 
created,  for  the  benefit  of  the  rest  of  the  world, 
that  you  prospered  or  could  prosper." 

"I  wish  you  would  make  that  clear." 

"Certainly,  I  will.  Does  the  X  plantation 
produce  anything?" 

"Yes;  sugar." 

"And  of  what  use  is  that  sugar?" 

"It  is  a  food." 

"Then  you  have  been  producing  sugar  to  feed 
mankind.  Now,  if  that  isn't  creating  and  serving, 
I'd  like  to  know  what  is?" 

"Then  you  admit  that  our  ambition  has  been 
to  create  and  to  serve." 

"No,  I  don't.  You  never  thought  of  that  side  of 
the  case.     You  regarded  the  plantation  only  as  a 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    239 

revenue-producer.  The  rest  of  the  world  could 
starve  and  rot  for  all  you  cared.  And  yet,  all  the 
while,  you  only  existed  because  the  rest  of  the 
world  was  able  to  buy  your  sugar. 

"You  produced  sugar;  the  gold-mines  of  Cali- 
fornia produced  gold.  You  exported  your  sugar  to 
California.  You  exchanged  your  sugar  for  its 
gold.  You  were  living  under  a  co-operative  system. 
You  owed  your  every  cent  to  it.  And  yet  the 
very  thought  of  co-operation  grated  on  your 
nerves. 

"Had  it  been  in  your  power  to  close  the  gold- 
mines of  California,  you  would  have  given  the 
word  in  an  instant.  Had  it  been  in  your  power 
to  destroy  the  grain-fields  of  California,  you  would 
have  done  so,  for  such  is  your  amiable  disposition. 
And  by  so  doing  you  would  have  destroyed  the 
purchasing  power  of  the  very  people  to  whom  you 
wished  to  sell.  In  your  silly  shortsightedness  you 
were  hating  the  very  system  which  made  your 
prosperity  possible." 

Crane  considered  for  a  moment  and  then  went 
on, 

"But  if  I  talked  till  doomsday  I  doubt  whether 
I  could  change  your  mental  attitudes.  I'm  here 
to  dictate  terms.  If  you  want  to  save  your  necks, 
you'll  agree  to  those  terms.  Otherwise,  1*11  let 
you  argue  the  case  with  the  Japanese." 

The  prisoners  were  paying  the  best  of  attention. 
They  looked  eagerly  toward  Crane.  But  were 
they  looking  at  him?  Or  was  their  attention 
centered  on  something  they  saw  behind  him?  The 
Californian  stopped   and  cast  a  glance   backward 


240  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

over  his  shoulder.  He  saw  only  a  row  of  Japanese 
on  the  verandah. 

Crane  turned  again  to  his  prisoners  and  pro- 
ceeded to  dictate  his  terms. 

"Well,  we'll  let  by-gones  be  by-gones/*  he  began. 

"How  magnanimous!"  was  the  president's 
thought. 

"Your  homes  and  personal  property  will  be  left 
you,'*  Crane  continued.  "There  will  be  no  danger 
of  your  suffering  from  poverty.  But  your  incomes 
from  the  X  plantation  must  be  cut  off.  You  must 
sign  over  every  share  you  own.  Those  shares  will 
be  divided,  pro  rata,  among  the  minority  stock- 
holders." 

Crane  expected  an  outburst  of  expostulation  from 
the  prisoners.     None  came. 

"And  we  will  hold  you,"  he  concluded,  "until 
the  transfer  has  been  put  through  the  banks  in 
due  and  legal  form,  and  we  are  satisfied  that  you 
will  abide  by  it.    Do  you  agree?" 

"Certainly  we  agree.  You  are  master  of  the 
situation.'* 

"Then  all  that  remains  for  to-day,  is  to  make 
out  and  sign  the  papers." 

But  Crane  heard  an  angry  growl  from  the 
Japanese  behind  him.  This  easy  victory  would 
not  satisfy  them.  They  must  have  an  opportunity 
to  give  the  prisoners  an  object-lesson.  Atten 
afforded  the  opportunity. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  call  this  stealing?"  he  said. 

"No  sir,  I  do  not.  To  recover  what  rightfully 
belongs  to  me,  is  not  stealing.  Mr.  Atten,  you 
seem   to   be   too   *fresh.'     Little   boys    should   be 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    241 

seen  and  not  heard.  I  guess  we'll  have  to  impress 
that  on  your  seat  of  consciousness.  Wanto,  bring 
a  barrel  and  teach  this  fellow  manners." 

In  an  instant,  a  barrel  had  been  brought.  Four 
Japanese  hurled  themselves  on  Atten.  They  threw 
him  over  the  barrel  and  held  him  there,  while  two 
others  plied  the  bamboos.  The  rest  of  the 
Japanese  shouted  with  laughter.  The  attorney 
howled  with  pain  and  rage.  Whack!  Whack! 
Whack!  Not  until  all  had  taken  a  turn  at 
wielding  the  bamboo,  did  they  release  him. 

The  object-lesson  was  effective.  The  prisoners 
lost  all  desire  to  criticize  Crane  and  his  methods. 
He  settled  himself  at  the  table  to  make  out  the 
papers. 

It  was  a  long  and  toilsome  process,  for  he  had 
planned  a  set  of  very  binding  agreements.  I 
warrant  you  he  did  not  forget  any  technicality. 
The  hours  flew  by.  Meanwhile,  half  of  the 
Japanese  were  dismissed  to  the  kitchen,  where  they 
set  about  the  preparation  of  dinner. 

At  last  the  papers  were  ready  and  were  passed 
across  the  table  to  be  signed  by  the  president  and 
his  associates.  While  the  signatures  were  being 
affixed.  Crane  leaned  back  and  stretched  his  feet 
and  flexed  the  muscles  of  his  forearm,  for  he  was 
weary   with  writing. 

Directly  behind  him  was  a  wide  arched  window, 
its  halves  swinging  sideways  on  hinges  out  over 
the  verandah.  It  had  been  thrown  open,  and  in 
the  opening  the  Japanese  were  sitting,  smoking 
endless  cigarettes  and  chattering  in  low  tones. 
Though  the  time  was  near  sunset,  the  sky  was  very 


242  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

bright.  The  light  fell  strongly  over  Crane's 
shoulder. 

As  he  sat  there,  he  let  his  gaze  ramble  around 
the  luxurious  room.  The  decorations  were  dis- 
tinctly Oriental,  with  such  a  profusion  of  tall 
porcelain  jars  and  Japanese  armor,  of  sleepy 
Buddhas  and  ebony  furniture,  of  screens  and 
bronzes  and  ivory  carvings,  it  seemed  as  if  an 
art  shop  of  Tokio  had  been  transported  to  Honolulu. 
Crane's  eye  was  caught  and  held  by  a  superb 
Japanese  screen  with  panels  of  embroidered  silk. 
Across  its  panels  ran  a  picture  of  a  gigantic  eagle 
hovering  above  a  wind-whipped  sea  and  a  rocky 
coast.  White-capped  waves  were  roaring  toward 
the  shore,  and  above  the  waves  there  flew  white 
sea-birds.  In  the  very  foreground  a  low  ragged 
rock  rose  from  the  water  and  to  its  summit  the 
eagle  clung.  One  could  almost  feel  his  talons 
gripping  the  rock,  as  with  wings  outspread  and 
plumage  ruffled  and  head  bent  and  yellow  beak 
thrust  down,  he  peered  into  the  sea  beating  and 
surging  below  him.  All  the  interest  centered  on 
the  giant  bird. 

The  design  expressed  action,  action  to  the  Nth 
power,  for  the  great  eagle  was  vibrant  with  life, 
aroused,  powerful  and  predatory.  The  technique 
was  perfect.  As  a  picture,  that  piece  of  embroidery 
far  surpassed  the  average  oil-painting.  And  the 
luster  of  the  silk  lent  it  a  tone  which  no  oil- 
painting  can  ever  possess. 

Crane  glanced  from  the  picture  to  its  owner — 
the  president. 

"He  certainly  has  taste,"  Crane  decided;  "taste 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    243 

which  he  has  gratified  at  our  expense.  Hereafter, 
he'll  gratify  it  at  his  own. 

The  president  had  finished  signing  the  papers 
and  had  passed  them  on.  Now  he  was  fanning 
himself  with  his  handkerchief,  though  the  air  did 
not  seem  to  be  particularly  warm  for  a  day  in  the 
tropics. 

Crane  watched  him  for  a  moment  before  he 
asked, 

"Old  man,  can't  you  amuse  yourself  in  any  way, 
except  by  playing  with  your  handkerchief?" 

"I  think  I  might.  I  could  slap  your  face,  for 
instance,"  and  the  president  flicked  the  end  sharply 
on  Crane's  cheek. 

For  a  moment  the  Californian  was  too  surprised 
to  speak.     Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  skin  you  alive,"  he  shouted. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  and  at  the  same  moment 
Crane  was  conscious  of  a  movement  behind  him. 
Part  of  the  light  from  the  window  had  been  cut 
off.  A  shadow  fell  on  the  papers  before  him.  As 
the  papers  darkened,  the  faces  of  the  men  across 
the  table  lit  with  a  gleam  of  triumph.  And  then 
bedlam  broke  loose. 

He  saw  the  manager  and  the  president  rise 
and  hurl  themsleves  upon  him.  Behind  him  he 
heard  the  thud  of  bodies,  the  thrashing  of  heavy 
boots,  the  clicking  of  handcuffs,  accompanied  by  a 
medley  of  grunts,  snarls  and  shouts.  He  was 
dimly  conscious  of  Atten  overthrowing  Wanto. 
Wanto  had  snatched  the  bronze  statuette  from  the 
bookcase  and  was  wielding  it  in  his  own  defense. 


244  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Then  the  atmosphere  cleared,  and  Crane  found 
himself  and  his  helpers,  helpless  on  the  floor, 
bound  hand  and  foot,  while  over  them  exulted 
John  Carding  and  a  crew  of  jabbering,  yellow- 
faced  Koreans. 

But,  if  the  Japanese  were  tied,  their  mouths 
were  at  liberty.  With  all  their  lungs,  they  were 
shouting  for  help,  and  help  was  coming.  The 
rest  of  the  party  were  galloping  along  the  verandah. 
The  planks  were  thundering  to  the  beating  of  their 
heavy  boots.  The  Koreans  turned  to  meet  them. 
Atten  seemed  to  think  that  once  more  he  was 
playing  college  football.  At  the  head  of  Carding's 
Koreans,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  re-inforce- 
ments,  sweeping  two  of  them  to  the  floor.  In 
another  minute,  all  of  them  had  been  overpowered, 
handcuffed  and  bound. 

Crane  had  said  that  there  were  to  be  four 
villains  in  the  cast.  He  had  forgotten  the  fifth — 
John   Carding. 

When  a  man  feels  his  condition  to  be  helpless 
and  hopeless,  nearly  as  bad  as  it  can  be,  he  takes  it 
rather  coolly.  As  Crane  lay  stretched  on  the  floor, 
and  listened  to  the  talk  which  was  going  on  above 
him,  he  felt  very  much  as  though  he  were  an 
outsider,  as  though  the  situation  concerned  him  not 
at  all. 

John  Carding  appeared  to  be  the  hero  of  the 
hour.  They  were  congratulating  him  on  the  rescue, 
and  were  asking  him  how  he  had  planned  it. 

"I  saw  your  first  signal  beneath  the  palm- 
trees,*'  the  president  explained,  "and  I  knew  then 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    245 

that  help  was  coming.  In  fact,  I  never  felt  any 
concern  after  that  time."  Then  he  broke  off  to 
exclaim  "Oh,  my  poor  tiger  !'*  The  bronze  statuette 
lay  on  the  floor,  minus  two  legs  and  a  tail.  It 
appeared  to  have  been  the  chief  sufferer  in  the 
fight. 

"I  knew  this  fellow.  Crane,  was  up  to  some 
mischief,"  said  Carding.  "Yesterday,  I  tracked 
him  to  the  other  side  of  the  island.  He  dodged 
back  to  Honolulu,  and  that  told  me  that  he  meant 
some  trick.  But  I  never  imagined  he  would 
carry  it  this  far. 

"I  learned  at  the  Cosmos  Club,  to-day,  that  you 
had  started  for  Pearl  City.  I  telephoned  there,  and 
they  told  me  that  you  had  not  arrived.  Then  I 
started  out  to  hunt  for  you  at  your  homes.  As 
soon  as  I  got  here,  and  climbed  the  wall,  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Japanese,  I  saw  what  had 
happened.  So  I  hurried  to  the  plantation,  and 
got  together  a  bunch  of  twenty  Koreans.  You 
know  how  a  Korean  hates  a  Jap.  I  hurried  here, 
and  you  know  the  rest." 

While  they  had  been  talking,  the  sun  had  set. 
Now  the  short  tropical  twilight  was  fading.  Already 
it  was  dark  beneath  the  trees. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  these  things?"  and 
Carding  kicked  a  prostrate  Jap. 

"Put  them  in  the  garage,  with  a  guard  of 
Koreans,  for  the  night,"  answered  the  president. 
"We'll  have  our  suppers  and  a  good  night's  rest, 
and  deal  with  them  to-morrow." 

Meanwhile  the  manager  was  bestowing  sundry 


246  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

kicks  and  thumps  upon  the  unhappy  Wanto, 
snarling  as  he  did  so, 

"I'll  show  you  how  much  of  a  white  rabbit  I 
am,  before  I'm  through  with  you.  You'll  decide 
that  a  wolf-hound  is  gentle  in  comparison." 

"How  about  this  fellow?"  and  Carding  indicated 
Crane. 

The  manager  transferred  his  attentions  to  the 
Californian. 

"How  comes  it  he  isn't  handcuffed?"  he  inquired. 

"We  had  only  fifteen  pairs." 

"Well,  put  a  couple  of  extra  turns  of  rope 
around  him." 

"And  then  throw  him  under  the  trees,"  the 
president  added.  "We'll  keep  him  apart  from  his 
helpers." 

These  directions  were  carried  out.  They  took 
a  final  look  at  Crane  as  he  lay  beneath  the  palms. 

"So,  you  poor,  paltry,  pitiful,  little  fool,  you 
imagined  you  could  cope  with  us!  So,  this  is 
where  all  your  plans  and  plots  have  brought  you! 
Here  you  lie,  trussed  like  a  fowl  for  the  roasting. 
Well,  I  hope  you  pass  a  pleasant  night,"  and  with 
a  good-night  kick  they  left  him. 

Above  him  the  tall  trunks  swayed;  their  plumy 
foliage  was  waving  in  the  slow  night  wind.  The 
sky  was  half  covered  with  clouds.  Up  in  the  hills 
it  was  raining,  and  the  edge  of  the  shower  had 
drifted  down  into  the  valley.  Now  the  rain  was 
pattering  on  the  palm  trees,  and  dripping  on  the 
ground  where  Crane  was  lying.  Little  pools  and 
ponds  began  to  form. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  SUGAR-PLANTER    247 

His  body  and  limbs  were  cramped  by  the  cords; 
his  blood  could  circulate  but  slowly.  In  spite  of 
the  tropical  climate,  a  chill  from  the  wind  and 
rain  was  penetrating  to  his  bones.  And  close  at 
hand,  within  the  mansion,  were  his  most  vindictive 
enemies,  made  rancorous  by  the  treatment  they 
had  received  during  the  last  two  days,  and  backed 
by  Carding  and  his  band  of  Koreans. 


XIX 

AN    ESCAPE 

THERE  is  a  knack  by  which  a  man  may  free 
himself  from  any  ordinary  rope-tieing,  and 
Crane  had  learned  the  knack.  Next  morning 
he  was   missing. 

The  news  was  brought  to  the  president  and  his 
party  while  they  were  at  the  breakfast-table.  The 
Koreans  also  brought  the  cords  with  which  Crane 
had  been  bound,  and  with  them  a  leaf  torn  from  a 
note-book.  Two  words  were  scribbled  on  the 
paper, — "Good  bye.** 

This  message  was  handed  through  the  railing 
of  the  verandah,  for  breakfast  was  being  served 
in  the  open  air.  The  president  took  the  paper  with 
the  tips  of  his  fingers,  while  he  lifted  a  pair  of 
platinum-rimmed  eye-glasses  from  his  vest-pocket. 
He  caught  the  words  at  a  glance,  and  passed  the 
paper  to  Atten. 

"Facetious,  isn't  he?"  commented  the  president. 

"You  seem  to  take  it  very  coolly,"  answered 
Atten.  He  himself  was  fairly  boiling  with  rage, 
and  he  had  reason.  In  a  standing  position,  he 
was  eating  his  breakfast  from  a  side-board. 

"Oh,  we'll  get  him.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an 
escaped  criminal  who  managed  to  elude  capture 
in  this  island?" 

"No;  they  get  them  in  no  time." 


AN  ESCAPE  249 

"Precisely;  and  it  is  because  the  city  is  on  an 
island,  and  a  small  island  at  that.  He  can't  escape 
us,  and  you  know  it,  if  you'll  stop  to  think." 

"Then  I  move  that  we  resolve  ourselves  into  a 
committee  of  the  whole,  and  decide  how  to  conduct 
the  hunt,"  said  Frank  Atten. 

"Good!"  and  the  president  requested,  "Gentle- 
men, I'd  like  to  get  your  opinions  as  to  where 
he  is;  the  most  likely  direction  in  which  to  look 
for  him,   I   mean?" 

There  were  as  many  opinions  as  there  were 
men  present. 

"Why,  he  and  captain  Coburn  are  a  congenial 
pair.     I'll  bet  he's  at  the  bungalow." 

"Coburn  isn't  his  only  friend.  He  may  have 
applied  to  Sherrill  to  conceal  him." 

"I  don't  know.  He's  been  posing  as  a  tourist. 
There  was  an  inter-island  steamer  scheduled  to 
leave  for  Hilo  last  night.  He  may  have  gone  there." 

The  manager  thought  Crane  "might  be  lying 
low  on  some  plantation.  Better  call  up  all  the 
plantations  and  ask  whether  a  stranger,  answering 
Crane's  description  had  arrived." 

The  president  gave  courteous  attention  to  all 
of  these  suggestions,  but  there  was  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.     Then  he  asked, 

"Now  tell  me  the  last  place  where  he's  likely 
to  be." 

"Why,  that's  easy;  at  his  hotel." 

Everyone  endorsed  this  opinion.  It  was  unani- 
mous. 

"Precisely.  Now,  Mr.  Crane  appears  to  be  a 
fairly  astute  young  man.     He  has   asked  himself 


250  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  question,  Where  will  they  least  expect  to  find 
me?  He  has  answered  that  question  as  you 
answered  it,  and  has  gone  direct  to  his  hotel.  The 
chances  are  ten  to  one  he  is  there  right  now." 

"Well,  that's  easily  settled,"  and  Carding  went 
to  the  telephone. 

"Hello,"  he  called.  "I  want  to  inquire  whether 
one  of  your  guests  is  in  the  hotel  now;  a  Mr. 
Kenneth  Crane." 

"Yes,  he's  here.  At  least,  I  saw  him  go  into 
the  dining-rom.     Shall  I  send  for  him?" 

"Oh,  never  mind.  I'll  come  down  to  the  hotel. 
I  can't  settle  this  business  over  the  telephone," 
and  he  turned  to  the  president. 

"You're  right.     You  win.     He's  there." 

The  president's  manner  became  philosophical  as 
he  answered, 

"Now,  that  illustrates  the  character  of  the  man. 
He  is  astute  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  his  astute- 
ness never  carries  him  quite  far  enough.  If  the 
distance  from  wharf  to  boat  is  ten  feet,  he  jumps 
nine  of  those  feet  very  well,  but  he  lands  in  the 
water." 

"Well,  we  know  now  where  he  is,"  said  Deane. 
"I  suppose  the  next  thing  to  do  its  to  call  up 
the  police." 

"And  have  the  whole  of  this  affair  aired  in 
court?"  asked  the  president,  and  he  turned  to 
Atten.  "Frank,  do  you  want  to  see  the  papers 
printing  cartoons,  showing  you  over  a  barrel." 

The  attorney  was  positive  that  he  did  not  want 
to  see  the  papers  printing  cartoons,  showing  him 
over  a  barrel. 


AN  ESCAPE  251 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  the  president  continued. 
**That  fellow  made  monkeys  of  us  yesterday,  and 
there's  at  least  one  paper  would  enjoy  airing  our 
misadventures.  We're  not  too  popular  in  Honolulu. 
I  move  that  we  settle  this  matter  ourselves." 

Atten  had  his  doubts,  now. 

"In  other  words,  you  want  us  to  take  the  law 
into  our  own  hands,"  he  said.  "That  might  lead 
to  serious  complications.* 

"Complications  with  what,^-or  with  whom?" 

"Why,  with  the  courts.  Courts  are  jealous  of 
their  prerogatives." 

"So  they  are,  but  they'll  think  twice  before  they 
interfere  with  us." 

"I  don't  know.  A  minute  ago  you  admitted 
that  we  are  not  too  popular  in  Honolulu." 

"Very  true.  But  it  would  set  a  dangerous  legal 
precedent  if  the  directors  of  a  big  sugar  company 
were  harried." 

This  was  true.  The  Hawaiian  Islands  are 
essentially  an  agricultural  community.  All  the 
interests  of  the  territory  are  bound  up  in  the 
prosperity  of  the  plantations.  No  district  attorney 
would  want  to  make  trouble  for  the  officers  of  a 
large  estate,  unless  the  case  was  a  very  clear  one. 

This  thought  ran  through  Atten's  mind,  as  he 
answered, 

"Oh,  the  courts  would  be  bound  to  give  us  the 
benefit  of  any  doubt.  The  question  is,  just  how 
far  can  we  go?" 

"I  think  we  can  go  as  far  as  we  please.  If  we 
had  taken  the  initiative,  the  case  would  be  alto- 
gether different.     But  our  opponents  have   taken 


252  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  initiative.  It  is  as  though  you  defended  your- 
self against  a  man  who  attacked  you,  Mr.  Atten. 
Suppose  you  kill  him  in  self-defense,  is  that 
murder?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"And  haven't  these  parties  attacked  us.  What 
they  did  was  a  clear  case  of  kidnapping". 

"It  was  a  clear  case,  but  not  an  aggravated  case.'* 

"Nevertheless,  it  put  them  clearly  in  the  wrong. 
How  can  Crane  and  his  helpers  appeal  to  a  court 
for  protection,  after  they  themselves  have  taken 
the  law  into  their  own  hands.  As  well  might  a 
band  of  thieves  appeal  to  a  court  for  protection 
against  the  clubs  of  the  police.  They  have  out- 
lawed themselves." 

The  manager  struck  the  breakfast-table  an 
emphatic  blow  with  his  fist  as  he  endorsed  the 
president's  opinion.  "Crane  and  his  helpers  have 
outlawed  themselves." 

In  any  other  circumstances  Atten  would  have 
insisted  on  debating  the  point,  for  he  was  a  little 
jealous  of  his  standing  as  the  corporation's 
attorney.  To  be  beaten  by  the  president  in  a 
legal  argument,  he  felt  to  be  humiliating.  But 
when  a  fresh  twinge  reminded  him  of  his 
experience  the  day  before,  he  promptly  bottled  up 
his  legal  doubts  and  joined  the  majority  in  their 
campaign  of  "expedient  ruthlessness." 

"Our  president  is  always  right,"  he  said.  "Crane 
is  an  outlaw,  and  we'll  treat  him  as  such.  But, 
just  at  present  he  isn't  available." 

"Oh,  we'll  get  him,"  answered  the  manager. 
"But  the  Japanese  are  'available,'  as  you  put  it. 


AN  ESCAPE  253 

Let's  arm  the  Koreans  with  clubs  and  try  the 
effect  of  a  little  corporeal  punishment  on  them. 
Hammer  the  Japs  to  a  jelly." 

His  manner  showed  that  he  was  perfectly 
serious  in  his  proposal.  After  a  man  has  spent 
years  in  the  exercise  of  arbitrary  authority  over 
gangs  of  oriental  laborers,  he  may  grow  to  regard 
his  men  with  less  consideration  than  he  would  a 
herd  of  work-animals.  Or  he  may  develop  an 
honest  interest  in  their  welfare.  The  manager  of 
the  X  plantation  belonged  to  the  former  class. 
But  his  suggestion  harmonized  with  the  spirit 
of  the  meeting,  for  the  spirit  of  the  meeting  was 
distinctly  vindictive — although  Atten  didn't  want 
to  see  the  men  murdered. 

"Your  methods  are  too  strenuous,"  he  objected. 
You  know  how  a  Korean  loves  a  Jap.  Before  the 
Koreans  were  through,  the  Japs  would  be  ready  for 
the  coroner.  We'll  keep  those  fellows  and  play 
with  them  as  cats  play  with  mice.  We  can  make 
each  of  them  die  a  hundred  deaths." 

It  seemed  doubtful  whether  his  objection  would 
help  the  Japanese  any,  even  were  it  meant  to — as 
the  next  speech  proved. 

"Good  enough,"  the  manager  agreed.  "After 
breakfast  we'll  chain  the  Japanese  to  palm-trees, 
line  up  before  them  with  our  automatics,  and  tell 
them  they  are  to  be  shot.  We'll  aim  just  over 
their  heads.  When  a  Jap  hears  a  report  and 
senses  the  bark  flying  from  the  trunk,  two  inches 
from  his  hair,  he  will  undergo  all  the  nervous 
strain  of  a  man  who  is  being  shot  to  death,  and 
yet  will  remain  to  suffer  again." 


254  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Deane's  complexion  turned  sickly  and  sallow, 
like  that  of  a  man  about  to  be  overcome  by  sea- 
sickness. 

"I  think  I  shall  prefer  to  be  excused  from  such 
play,"  he  said.  "I'm  afraid  I'd  make  a  very 
poor  cat." 

The  president  objected  on  different  grounds. 

"I  endorse  your  cat-and-mouse  idea,"  he  said. 
"That's  splendid.  But  can't  you  arrange  to  carry 
it  out  without  injuring  my  palm-trees?" 

"My  suggestion  was  a  hasty  one,"  the  manager 
explained.  "Anyway,  the  trees  are  too  near  the 
road.  The  shooting  would  attract  attention,  and 
our  sport  would  bring  us  into  undesirable 
notoriety.  But  we  might  drive  staples  into  the 
sides  of  the  garage,  and  tie  the  Japs  there.  The 
machines  could  be  removed." 

"And  my  garage  turned  into  a  sieve,"  objected 
the  president. 
"Well,  we'll  hear  you  make  a  suggestion." 

"Why  not  put  ropes  around  their  necks  and  give 
them  a  taste  of  hanging;  alternately  raise  and 
lower  them.  We  could  carry  the  ropes  over  a 
long  horizontal  beam.  Why,  there's  one  in  my 
son's  gymnasium.  Such  a  method  would  make  no 
noise,  damage  no  property,  and  cause  no  incon- 
venience to  anyone  except  the  Japanese.  And 
it  certainly  would  inconvenience  them, — very  much 
more  than  the  popping  of  fire-arms,  and  the 
whizzing  of  bullets  which  'never  touched  them'." 

"Good  enough,"  said  the  manager.  "This 
promises  to  be  better  sport  than  shark-hunting 
and  tuna-fishing  in  the  lochs  of  Pearl  Harbor." 


AN  ESCAPE  255 

"Oh,  we  can  have  plenty  of  sport,"  said  Atten. 
"But  when  that  part  of  the  program  is  finished, 
what  then?* 

"Why,  then  the  sport  becomes  dead  earnest," 
answered  the  manager,  with  emphasis  on  the 
"dead." 

Atten's  legal  training  was  strong  within  him. 
His  soul  revolted  at  the  idea. 

"This  is  getting  too  serious,"  he  said.  Obviously 
he  needed  "coaching"  in  Island  methods. 

"Now,  see  here,  Mr.  Atten,"  argued  the  presi- 
dent, "a  legal  jury  can  condemn  a  man  to  death, 
can't   it?" 

"Of  course.     That  is,  it  can  find  him  guilty." 

"And  a  legal  jury  is  just  twelve  men.  And  is 
not  the  decision  of  those  twelve  men  frequently 
determined  by  the  opinion  of  three  or  four  out  of 
the  twelve.?" 

"It  frequently  is." 

"And  aren't  we  just  as  fit  to  make  up  a 
responsible  court  as  any  judge,  district  attorney, 
and  set  of  jurymen  likely  to  be  gotten  together  in 
this  island?  Remember  some  of  the  men  who 
have  been  nominated  for  the  office  of  judge.  Why, 
many  of  our  voters  are  barely  able  to  read  and 
write.  If  there  were  no  men  like  us,  to  see  that 
responsible  men  are  elected  as  judges  and  district 
attorneys,  the  Lord  only  knows  who  might  be 
chosen." 

"Just  the  same,  our  judges  compare  very 
favorably  with  those  on  the  mainland." 

"Precisely,  and  it  is  for  the  reason  I  gave  a 
minute  ago     We,  and  other  men  of  property,  put 


256  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

our  influence  behind  the  more  responsible  candi- 
dates. And  that  brings  me  to  the  point  of  my 
argument.  If  it  is  we  who  decide  who  shall  be 
elected  as  judges  and  district  attorneys;  if  we 
govern  the  deliberations  of  juries;  are  we  doing 
anything  unreasonable  in  trying  a  case  ourselves?" 

"No,  in  a  sense  we  are  not.  But  wouldn't  it  be 
going  rather  far,  if  we  condemned  men  to  death?" 

"But  judges  and  juries  condemn  them  to  death. 
And  we  have  decided  that  judges  and  juries  are 
made  of  no  better  stuff  than  ourselves." 

"True." 

"We  create  the  judges  and  govern  the  juries. 
Then,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  why  not  go 
direct  to  the  point?  why  waste  time  in  cranking 
up  the  cumbrous  machinery  of  the  law?" 

"That's  right." 

"If  we  were  actuated  by  motives  of  malice, 
robbery  or  revenge,  the  case  would  be  altogether 
different.  But  we  are  not  actuated  by  any  such 
motives.  All  we  want  is  to  see  a  set  of  pests 
swept  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Why,  a  few 
minutes  ago,  you  admitted  that  these  men  were 
outlaws.  What  is  the  use  of  starting  the  whole 
argument  over  again?  If  they  are  outlaws,  their 
lives  may  be  taken  by  any  citizen." 

Atten  started  to  say  that  the  men  "had  not 
been  declared  outlaws  by  the  courts,"  but  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  president: — 

"Why,  man,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  still  in 
your  native  California!  Have  you  lived  ten  years 
in  Hawaii  and  not  yet  learned  our  ways?  When 
we  believe  that  using  a  club  is  the  best  way  to 


AN  ESCAPE  257 

get  results,  we  use  the  club.  Why,  I  can  remember 
the  day — I  was  a  boy  at  the  time — when  a  mob 
charged  up  the  stairs  to  the  legislative  chamber 
and  smashed  in  the  doors,  with  axes,  because  the 
new  king  whom  the  legislature  had  elected,  wasn't 
the  choice  of  the  people.  It's  true  they  let  him 
ascend  the  throne,  but  I  can  remember  the  upris- 
ing of  '87  when  we  had  him  penned  in  his  palace 
until  he  came  to  terms;  and  the  revolution  of  '93, 
when  we  drove  out  royalty  and  established  a 
republic;  and  the  insurrection  of  '95,  when  from 
the  roof  of  the  Judiciary  Building  we  shot  the 
insurrectos  down  like  dogs — yes,  shot  them  from 
the  roof  of  the  Judiciary  Building  itself,  sir.  That's 
the  sort  of  a  country  this  is!  There's  something 
volcanic  in  its  atmosphere.' 

"That's  the  tune,"  the  manager  applauded.  "This 
is  a  place  where  we  settle  our  quarrels  ourselves," 
and  he  thought,  "Our  president's  all  right.  When 
he  quits  his  philosophy  for  fire,  he  can  furnish  the 
fire." 

Atten  was  silenced.  He  did  not  want  to  "start 
the  whole  argument  over  again."  He  wanted  an 
excuse  to  dispose  of  the  prisoners,  and  the 
president's  argument  impressed  him  as  perfectly 
sound. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "It  was  only  my  legal 
training,  getting  the  better  of  me,  that  made  me 
talk  as  I  did.  We'll  settle  this  case  ourselves.  But 
let  me  suggest  that  while  we  are  talking  here, 
planning  our  cat-and-mouse  campaign,  our  friend 
Crane  may  be  making  his  escape.  Isn't  it  more 
important  to  get  hold  of  him?" 


258  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

"That's  the  idea,"  agreed  the  manager.  "Just 
let  us  get  our  hands  on  him!  We've  got  to  get 
him.  Think  of  it!  All  last  night,  while  we  thought 
he  was  lying  on  the  wet  ground,  drenched  by  the 
drip  from  the  trees,  he  was  luxuriating  in  a  good 
bed  in  the  hotel,  and  laughing  at  us  for  a  bunch 
of  nanny-goats." 

"I  think  it  can  be  managed  quite  easily/* 
answered  the  president,  "and  I  think  we  had 
better  let  Mr.  Carding  manage  it.  Mr.  Carding, 
suppose  you  take  some  of  your  men  to  the  hotel 
and  get  hold  of  that  fellow  somehow.  I  think 
that,  once  you  are  on  the  ground,  a  method  will 
suggest  itself, — a  method  which  you  can  manage 
quietly." 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  Carding  swelled  with  importance. 
He  gathered  his  men,  hurried  from  the  grounds, 
and  boarded  an  electric  car  for  Hotel  street. 

As  he  sat  in  the  car,  he  wondered  within  himself 
what  would  be  the  actual  fate  of  the  prisoners. 

"The  manager  would  like  to  shoot  every  one 
o^  them,"  he  thought,  "but  I  don't  believe  we'll 
go  that  far.  The  old  man  is  pretty  conservative; 
half  of  what  he  gave  Frank  Atten  was  only  for  the 
sake  of  argument.  They'll  probably  ship  the  Japs 
out  of  the  country.  But,  as  for  Crane — I  don't 
know." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  car  was  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  Carding  entered  the  lobby.  There  followed 
a  confidential  interview  with  one  of  the  bell-boys. 

"He  went  out  half  an  hour  ago,"  that  young 
man  reported.  "But  Jimmy  followed  him.  And 
here  comes  Jimmy  right  now." 


AN  ESCAPE  259 

James  entered — breathlessly. 

"He  went  up  the  valley,  Mr.  Carding.  He  took 
a  tram-car  to  the  end  of  the  line,  and  then  he 
hiked  up  the  road  toward  the  Pali.  I  came  right 
back  on  the  same  car.'* 

"Thank  you,  Jimmy,"  and  Carding  made  a 
donation.  He  hurried  back  to  Manoa  valley,  for 
a  brilliant  idea  had  come  to  him.  But,  instead  of 
going  directly  to  the  president's  house,  he  made 
a  detour  to  his  own  home  on  Fort  street.  There 
he  secured  a  small,  paper  parcel.  After  placing  it 
carefully  in  one  of  his  side-pockets,  he  hurried  to 
make  his  report. 

"He  has  left  the  hotel  and  has  hiked  up  the 
road  to  the  Pali;  but  I  know  a  way  to  get  him. 
We'll  use  the  wolf-hounds.  And  here's  the  article 
which  will  give  them  the  scent.  It's  a  handker- 
chief which  he  lost  one  day — the  day  I  followed 
him  to  the  other  side  of  the  island.  I  have 
preserved  it  for  such  an  emergency,  and  here  it 
is."     Carding  produced  the  paper  package. 

"That  was  very  thoughtful  of  you,  Mr.  Carding," 
the  president  commented.  "But  you  have  had 
that  handkerchief  in  your  possession  for  some  days 
now.  I  am  afraid  it  would  suggest  to  the  dogs 
nobody  but  yourself." 

A  guffaw  of  laughter  from  the  manager,  endorsed 
the  president's  opinion. 

Carding  had  a  different  notion. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "I  think  he 
had  a  cold.  And  I've  kept  the  handkerchief 
carefully  wrapped  in  oiled  paper." 

"Very    thoughtful.      Very    thoughtful,"    replied 


260  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  president.  "But  I  believe  the  bed-clothes  will 
serve  our  purpose  better." 

"That's  the  plan,"  agreed  the  manager.  "But 
have  the  dogs  been  trained  as  trackers?  The  only 
wolf-hounds  I  ever  had  dealings  with,  were  utterly 
worthless  for  work  of  that  sort." 

"They  have  been  trained,"  answered  the 
president.  "Those  dogs  once  belonged  to  the  high 
sheriff.  We'll  use  them,  and  we'll  show  them  the 
bed-clothes.  Even  if  that  fellow  hadn't  slept  here, 
we  could  take  the  dogs  to  the  hotel  and  let  them 
get  the  scent  from  the  bed  he  occupied  last  night. 
I  don't  believe  we'll  need  that  handkerchief,  Mr. 
Carding." 

The  president  called  up  the  keeper  of  the  dogs, 
and  ordered  him  to  bring  the  animals  at  once. 
They  came  within  an  hour,  when  they  were  led 
to  the  bed  which  Crane  had  occupied.  From  the 
bed  they  were  taken  to  the  tree  where  he  had 
been  tied.  Both  dogs  gave  every  evidence  of 
having  taken  the  scent.  They  snuffed  and  whined 
and  were  eager  to  follow  Crane's  trail  down  the 
road  toward  the  hotel. 

Carding  and  the  manager  were  provided  with 
horses.  Each  man  strapped  a  murderous  automatic 
about  his  waist.  At  ten  o'clock  they  set  off  for 
the  Pali  road.  The  keeper  of  the  dogs,  leading 
the  ferocious  brutes,  followed  close  behind.  The 
column  was  closed  with  a  dozen  Koreans,  each 
armed  with  a  cane-knife. 

The  day  promised  to  be  propitious  for  the  hunt. 
There  was  no  sign  of  a  cloud.  The  great  white 
roll    which    ordinarily    overhung    the    hills,    had 


AN  ESCAPE  261 

disappeared  completely.  The  lustrous  green  of 
the  summits  stood  out  sharply  against  a  sky 
which  was  intensely  blu£. 

At  the  end  of  the  car-line,  the  dogs  picked  up 
the  scent.  Away  they  went,  as  fast  as  the  men 
could  walk,  leading  the  way  steadily  toward  the 
Pali.  At  a  point  where  a  narrow  foot-path  diverged 
from  the  road  they  left  the  road  for  the  path.  The 
manager  remembered  it  as  a  short-cut  that  saved 
half  a  mile. 

"That  fellow  seems  to  know  something  about 
this  island,"  he  commented. 

Presently  they  had  traversed  the  path  and  were 
following  the  main  road  once  more.  A  gigantic 
sight-seeing  auto,  loaded  with  tourists,  rumbled 
past  them,  the  passengers  looking  curiously  at 
the  party.  The  savage  dogs  in  the  lead,  straining 
at  their  leashes,  together  with  the  armed  men  on 
horseback  and  the  Koreans  with  their  cane-knives, 
combined  to  give  a  warlike  tone  to  the  expedition. 
The  megaphone  man,  though  totally  unacquainted 
with  the  manager  and  ignorant  of  his  purpose, 
made  an  announcement: 

"The  high  sheriff  of  Hawaii  and  posse,  pursuing 
escaped  criminals." 

The  machine  was  rolling  away  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  but  the  manager  caught  the  words. 

"It's  a  wonder  he  didn't  try  to  make  them 
believe  I'm  Simon  Legree,"  he  growled.  "I  tell 
you.  Carding,  these  'publicity'  people  are  turning 
this  island  into  a  Midway  Plaisance.  Everything 
in  the  island  is  a  show,  you  and  I  included." 

Up  the  road  they  went.     Then  down  the  grade 


262  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

to  where  a  track  branched  off  to  the  southeast. 
Without  the  slightest  hesitation,  the  dogs  turned 
into  the  side  road. 

"That  tells  the  story,"  exulted  the  manager.  "He 
is  bound  for  the  W  plantation.  I  told  you  he*d 
make  a  break  for  some  sugar  plantation.  We'll 
find  him  trying  to  hide  himself  there." 

Carding  was  doubtful.  "I  don't  know.  I've 
tried  to  track  that  fellow  before.  He  may  keep 
on,  past  the  plantation,  until  he  reaches  the  light- 
house road.  Then  he  can  come  around  the  hills 
and  double  back  into  Honolulu.  He  may  have 
lured  us  over  here  to  lose  us,  while  he  returns  to 
Honolulu  to  play  some  more  of  his  tricks." 

"All  right.  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  You  keep 
right  after  him  with  the  dogs  and  half  of  the 
men.  I'll  take  the  rest.  I'll  go  back  to  Honolulu. 
I'll  follow  the  road  to  the  southeast,  along  the 
leeward  side  of  the  hills.  Then,  if  he  tries  to 
double  back,  I'll  meet  him." 

The  manager  promptly  reined  his  horse  around. 
He  selected  half  a  dozen  Koreans  and  ordered 
them  to  follow  him.  They  turned  to  climb  the 
grade  which  they  had  descended  only  a  few 
minutes  before. 

With  a  wave  of  his  hat.  Carding  parted  from  the 
manager  and  urged  his  horse  after  the  dogs. 


XX 

A    CAPTURE 

DRESSED  in  cool  "Palm  Beach  cloth,"  Crane 
stood  on  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  where  the 
mountains  broke  off  and  plunged  to  the  plain 
below  as  though  sliced  down  by  a  gigantic  knife. 
For  a  minute  he  rested,  looking  down  on  a  land- 
scape dyed  with  the  vivid  colors  of  the  tropics. 
Far  below  lay  rolling  lands  of  red  earth,  pineapple 
plantations  and  small  villages,  stretching  out  to  the 
distant  shore  with  its  coral  reefs  and  dark  blue 
ocean.  Above  him  were  jagged  volcanic  peaks, 
clothed  in  the  brightest  tangle  of  tropical  jungle. 
Glancing  at  everything,  he  closed  and  replaced 
the  canteen  that  swung  from  his  left  shoulder, 
and  started  down  the  road  to  the  lowlands. 

As  the  manager  had  guessed.  Crane  was  on  his 
way  to  the  W  plantation,  for  he  had  conceived 
the  idea  of  throwing  himself  upon  the  hospitality 
of  its  superintendent.  He  remembered  the  man's 
good  nature.  He  remembered  his  treatment  of  the 
plantation  hands — "quarters  rebuilt,  using  tongue- 
and-groove  instead  of  rough  siding."  He  remem- 
bered his  friendship  with  lieutenant  Sherrill,  and 
especially  did  he  recall  an  invitation  which  had 
been  extended  to  himself: — "Come  and  visit  us 
again,  when  you  have  the  time,  Mr.  Crane.  Come 
and  stay  a  week  and  see  something  of  plantation 


264  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

life."     Now  was  the  time  to  avail  himself  of  that 
invitation. 

Once  settled  at  the  W  plantation,  Crane  could 
communicate  with  Sherrill  by  mail.  He  could 
make  plans  at  his  leisure.  There  might  be  many 
ways  of  extricating  himself. 

He  had  made  a  fairly  early  start,  and  he  needed 
it,  for  he  should  have  to  walk  nearly  twenty  miles. 

"No  automobiles  for  me,  this  trip,"  he  thought. 
"I  don't  intend  to  have  them  get  hold  of  the 
chauffeur  and  find  out  from  him  where  I've  gone." 

Setting  his  face  resolutely  up  the  road  to  the 
Pali,  he  topped  the  long  ascent  after  an  hour- 
and-a-half  of  brisk  walking,  and  trotted  down  the 
grade  to  the  windward  side  of  the  island. 

But  walking  was  warm  work.  Clouds  were 
scarce  that  day.  The  whole  island  was  soaked  in 
sunshine.  As  Crane  plodded  over  the  range  of 
little  hills  which  must  be  crossed  before  he  caught 
sight  of  the  W  plantation,  he  recalled  the  day 
when  he  had  ridden  over  them,  in  a  motor-car. 
How  delightful  that  journey  had  been! 
.  He  remembered  a  glimpse  he  had  caught  from 
the  machine,  of  a  picturesque  trail  coming 
from  a  coffee-plantation.  He  must  be  at  nearly 
the  same  place  now,  and  he  cast  a  quick  glance  to 
the  right.  Yes,  there  it  was,  cut  in  the  cliffs  where 
they  sloped  outward  to  join  the  lowland.  The  side 
of  the  trail  made  a  deep  red  scar  against  the  cliff. 
It  was  shaded  with  tall  ferns.  And  along  that 
track  came  a  line  of  mules,  loaded  with  sacks  of 
coffee.  He  noted  two  Hawaiian  muleteers,  pictur- 
esque rascals  with  broad-brimmed  hats,  who  kept 


A  CAPTURE  265 

the  animals  in  motion.  But  now  he  had  scant 
leisure  to  study  such  pictures.  Although  he  was  in 
good  physical  condition,  he  must  keep  his  mind 
resolutely  on  the  work  of  "getting  ahead." 

Plodding  steadily  on,  he  came  to  the  gap  in 
the  hills  affording  a  first  glimpse  of  the  W  plan- 
tation. Below,  in  the  foreground,  lay  the 
lustrous  fields  of  growing  cane.  Beyond  them  rose 
the  tall  black  stacks  of  mill  and  pumping-station. 
Miles  away  he  saw  a  white  drift  of  smoke,  curling 
Up  in  the  blue  air  and  blowing  toward  the  moun- 
tains. He  knew  the  smoke  must  mark  the  place 
where  they  were  burning  off  the  "trash"  which 
strews  a  cane-field  after  the  cutting. 

But  there  was  no  time  to  contemplate  the  land- 
scape. And  while  Crane  did  not  know  himself  to 
be  pursued,  he  was  very  restless.  The  only  way 
in  which  he  could  ease  that  restlessness  was  by 
constant  motion.  He  broke  into  a  jog-trot  as  he 
came  down  the  grade. 

Forty  minutes  later  he  was  at  the  office  and 
was  asking  for  the  manager.  But  the  manager  had 
gone  to  the  lower  end  of  the  plantation,  to 
superintend  the  commencement  of  work  in  harvest- 
ing a  cane-field.  The  accountant  who  was  in 
charge  of  the  office^  and  who  remembered  Crane, 
pointed  out  the  field.  It  was  at  least  three  miles 
away.  The  man  offered  the  hospitality  of  a  deep 
wicker  chair,  and  suggested  that  Crane  wait. 

No;  Crane's  restlessness  urged  him  on.  In  spite 
of  his  long  tramp,  he  was  not  tired.  He  would 
find  the  manager.  Squaring  his  shoulders,  he 
stepped  briskly  down  the  road. 


266  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

The  time  was  afternoon.  The  temperature  had 
risen,  and  Crane  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his 
face.  Well,  he  was  on  the  plantation  now,  and 
could  afford  to  relax  his  hurry. 

The  road  led  him  past  a  long  stretch  of  fields 
where  the  crop  had  been  gathered.  In  some  of 
those  fields  the  "trash"  was  burning.  Others  had 
already  been  burned  over,  and  lay  a  blackened 
waste,  ready  for  the  plowing  and  planting.  Through 
the  fields  a  very  light  line  of  portable  track  had 
been  laid,  to  cary  the  little  engine  and  train  of 
flat-cars  employed  to  transport  the  crop  from  field 
to  mill. 

Beyond  the  blackened  waste  lay  other  fields, 
where  young  cane  was  growing.  The  sultry  sunlight 
fairly  glared  on  their  light  lustrous  green.  And 
beyond  them  rose  the  amazing,  vertical  front  which 
the  mountains  opposed  to  the  trade-wind,  where 
the  face  of  the  cliff  was  covered  with  a  green  veil 
of  vegetation,  and  the  channels  which  the  rains 
had  carved,  showed  like  a  gigantic  fluting.  Crane 
speculated  on  the  possibility  of  climbing  the  cliff. 
Apparently  the  idea  was  preposterous.  Yet  he 
knew  that  such  a  place,  when  seen  from  the  front, 
always  seems  much  steeper  than  it  is.  He  remem- 
bered that  places  which  seemed  absolutely  unscal- 
able, had  been  pointed  out  to  him  as  containing 
native  trails.  But  he  remembered  also  that 
the  natives  who  ventured  down  those  trails, 
sometimes  lost  their  lives  in  the  venture. 

Now  Crane  was  approaching  a  high  stand  of 
growing  cane.  He  saw  that  it  was  ripe  and  ready 
for  the  harvest.     Behind  him  he  heard  the  steam- 


A  CAPTURE  267 

whistle  at  the  mill  booming  out  a  signal,  and  he 
recognized  that  signal  as  the  one  by  which  the 
laborers  were  warned  that  a  train  was  ready  to 
transport  them  to  the  fields.  And  still  he  saw  no 
sign  of  the  manager. 

But,  as  Crane  stopped,  and  stood  turning  from 
side  to  side,  to  look  for  him,  he  saw  a  sight  and 
heard  a  sound  which  galvanized  him  into  instant 
activity.  The  wolf-hounds  were  coming  down  the 
road,  half  dragging  their  keeper,  and  uttering 
a  terriffic  bay.  Crane  saw  Carding  on  horseback, 
with  the  Koreans  at  his  heels. 

"There's  just  one  chance  left  for  me,"  he  thought, 
and  he  dashed  toward  the  cane-field.  He  had  less 
than  fifty  yards  to  run.  He  plunged  between  its 
rows. 

A  cane-field  is  an  excellent  hiding-place.  It 
constitutes  a  maze  where,  in  cloudy  weather,  the 
most  experienced  man  may  lose  himself  if  unpro- 
vided with  a  compass.  There  was  no  danger  of 
Crane's  being  unable  to  find  his  way  out,  if  he 
wished,  for  the  sun  was  shining,  and  he  could 
guide  himself  by  it.  But  he  was  lost  to  anyone 
who  might  try  to  track  him. 

And  then  came  a  second  thought.  What  if  they 
should  loose  the  dogs?  The  dogs  could  find  him. 
At  any  moment  he  might  see  the  immense,  square 
muzzle  and  ferocious  fangs  of  one  of  the  savage 
brutes  thrust  between  the  canes.  Instantly  he 
began  to  hear  them  coming  in  every  rustle  made  by 
the  breeze.  Strange  sounds  startled  him  from 
moment  to  moment,  as  he  burst  his  way  through 
the  tangle. 


268  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Had  the  dogs  been  sent  after  him,  this  story 
would  end  right  here,  for  Crane  was  totally 
unarmed.  And  had  the  manager  of  the  X  plan- 
tation been  there,  they  would  have  been  sent  after 
him.  But  Carding  had  no  intention  of  using  them 
otherwise  than  as  trackers. 

Crane  struggled  to  put  as  much  distance  as 
possible  between  himself  and  pursuit.  To  do  so, 
he  kept  on  toward  the  hills,  guiding  himself  by 
the  sun  and  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  top  of 
the  great  cliff.  And  fortunately  the  rows  of  cane 
ran  in  that  direction. 

All  around  him  the  great,  thick  canes,  heavy  with 
juice,  lay  with  half  their  length  on  the  ground. 
Then  they  curved  upward  for  ten  feet,  to  weave 
their  long  leaves  together  into  a  snarl  of  green. 
In  the  twilight  of  their  dense  shade,  Crane  pressed 
forward,  crouching,  bending  and  twisting.  Where 
he  was,  no  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  but  over- 
head he  heard  the  trade-wind  whispering  through 
the  highest  leaves,  tossing  them  back  and  forth. 
And  then  he  heard  a  very  different  sound. 

That  sound  was  not  the  baying  of  dogs.  It  was 
the  crackling  and  roaring  of  fire. 

Crane  had  heard  the  scream  of  the  locomotive 
bringing  the  train-load  of  cane-cutters.  Now  he 
recalled  that,  when  a  field  of  sugar-cane  is  ripe, 
and  ready  for  the  harvest  it  is  fired  on  its  wind- 
ward side.  The  flames,  sweeping  through  it,  bum 
off  the  leaves,  while  the  heavy  stalks  remain 
unharmed.  It  is  true  that  this  method  is  followed 
only  on  the  more  progressive  plantations.  On 
many  estates  the  cane  is  cut  just  as  it  stands,  and 


A  CAPTURE  269 

is  run  through  the  rollers,  with  leaves,  trash,  and 
all.  The  resulting  juice  is  partly  saccharine  and 
partly  bug  juice  in  the  most  literal  sense.  But  on 
the  W  plantation  they  were  very  progressive. 
Under  the  manager's  personal  supervision,  the 
field  was  being  fired  at  many  points. 

As  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Crane  caught 
glimpses  of  great  clouds  of  acrid  smoke,  which 
presently  began  to  sail  between  him  and  the  sun. 
He  even  caught  the  crimson  flash  of  flames,  which 
glowed  an  intense  and  rosy  red  even  under  the 
full  glare  of  the  tropical  day.  Should  they  reach 
him,  there  would  be  no  question  as  to  his  fate. 

Crane  pushed  forward  desperately,  in  the  hope  of 
escaping  from  the  field  before  the  flames  overtook 
him.  Presently  he  began  to  realize  that  he  was 
near  the  mountains. 

The  field  was  only  a  short  half-mile  in  width, 
for  the  plain  where  this  plantation  stood,  narrowed 
as  it  approached  the  south-eastern  end  of  the 
island.  Suddenly  the  cane  thinned.  Before  him 
the  gigantic  rampart  of  the  mountains  rose,  two 
thousand  feet  above  the  plain.  Scattered  rows  of 
cane  ascended  the  low  slopes  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 
Crane  came  out  into  the  open  air? 

But  was  he  any  better  off?  There  he  stood 
between  cliff  and  cane-field.  There  was  no  danger, 
now,  of  his  being  roasted.  He  could  avoid  that. 
But  immense  billows  of  smoke  were  surging 
towards  him.  And  suffocation  by  smoke  is  a  no 
less  certain,  and  on  the  whole  a  rather  more 
painful,  because  more  lingering,  death  than  burning. 
Crane  thought  of  the  dogs;  then  of  the  fire;  then 


270  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

of  the  smoke.  The  sound  of  the  fire  was  roaring 
in  his  ears,  the  billows  of  smoke  were  surging 
toward  him,  the  inaccessible  front  of  the  cliff 
before  him.  Whichever  way  he  turned,  it  seemed 
as  though  he  were  lost. 

A  rattling  of  rocks  caught  his  attention.  A  goat, 
followed  by  two  young  kids,  had  rushed  from  the 
field,  and  was  scrambling  up  the  cliff.  Crane 
watched  it.  Somehow  the  cliff  did  not  seem  nearly 
so  steep  as  it  looked  from  a  distance.  It  is 
true  that  to  right  and  left  there  were  places  which 
were  absolutely  vertical  for  hundreds  of  feet.  But 
everywhere  the  rains  had  furrowed  its  front.  Some 
of  the  channels  showed  a  pronounced  slope.  As 
he  watched  the  goat,  he  saw  it  was  ascending 
such  a  channel.  It  was  following  a  shadowy  but 
definite  trail. 

Crane  did  not  wait  for  second  thoughts.  After 
the  goats  he  went.  He  doubted  whether  he  could 
have  come  down  that  trail.  But  the  ascent  was  not 
so  difficult,  especially  as  the  cliff  held  hundreds 
of  trailing  vines.  He  climbed  with  both  hands 
and  feet.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  emerged 
from  the  field  almost  at  the  foot  of  an  old  native 
trail,  by  which  the  Hawaiians  once  had  been 
accustomed  to  cross  the  mountains. 

Higher  and  higher  he  climbed,  for  puffs  of 
smoke  began  to  eddy  around  him.  They  spurred 
him  on.  But  at  this  height  the  smoke  was  not 
dense  enough  to  be  dangerous.  Presently  he 
stopped  for  a  breathing-spell.  While  he  rested,  he 
reflected.  Suppose  the  trail  led  to  the  top?  Might 
it  not  be  possible  to  cross  the  hills  and  return  to 


A  CAPTURE  271 

Honolulu?  There  he  might  be  able  to  conceal 
himself  and  make  new  plans. 

The  thought  gave  him  a  new  impulse.  Scramb- 
ling and  climbing,  up  he  went.  The  air  was  humid 
and  hot.  His  perspiration  flowed  in  rivulets. 
Frequent  breathing-spells  were  necessary.  He  was 
delayed  by  a  few  break-neck  places,  but  he  passed 
them  safely.  Eventually  he  climbed  upon  a  rocky 
platform  which  lay  on  the  very  top. 

There  he  rested.  He  felt  like  resting.  He  also 
felt  like  eating,  and  he  drew  a  supply  of  sand- 
wiches from  his  pockets.  He  congratulated  him- 
self on  having  had  the  sense  to  bring  them. 
He  washed  each  mouthful  down  with  a  draught 
of  tepid  water  from  his  canteen. 

Crane  had  escaped.  He  had  saved  his  life,  but 
what  a  sight  he  was!  His  light  suit  was  streaked 
brown  and  green  from  collar  to  heels,  the  coat 
half  torn  to  tatters.  But  if  he  were  able  to  return 
to  his  hotel,  that  night,  he  could  secure  fresh 
clothing.  On  second  thought,  should  he  have  left 
the  hotel?  Out  in  these  remote  districts,  if  his 
enemies  caught  him  they  would  do  what  they 
pleased  with  him.  In  Honolulu  there  were  limita- 
tions, even  if  he  had  made  himself  amenable  to 
the  law.  Yes,  decidedly  the  best  plan  would  be  to 
make  his  way  quietly  back  to  the  hotel. 

As  he  rested,  he  studied  the  leeward  slope,  which 
he  would  have  to  descend.  It  reminded  him  of 
what  Sherrill  had  said  of  the  violent  contrasts 
afforded  by  districts  separated  by  a  very  few  miles. 
He  knew  that,  only  a  few  miles  away,  the  slopes 
were  matted  with  the  densest  tangle  of  trees  and 


272  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

underbrush.  But  here  they  lay  bare.  The  hills 
showed  as  piles  of  rock-layers.  Not  Diamond 
Head  itself  was  as  bare  as  these  slopes.  When  he 
should  be  ready  to  descend,  there  would  be  no 
impediment  to  his  progress.  The  way  would  be 
as  clear  of  obstruction  as  a  city  pavement. 

On  the  margin  of  the  sea,  directly  before  him 
as  he  looked,  the  great  Koko  crater  loomed,  bare 
and  brown,  rising  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the 
water.  Miles  away  to  the  right,  he  saw  the  huge 
circle  of  Diamond  Head.  Midway  between  those 
craters,  the  deep  green  of  a  grove  of  cocoa-palms 
rose  from  the  shore.  As  Crane  watched  it,  he 
could  see  the  tops  of  the  trees  tossing  in  the  trade- 
wind,  and  above  the  trees  he  caught  the  glint  of 
what  looked  like  a  sea-gull's  wing.  The  object 
vanished  and  reappeared,  vanished  and  reappeared. 
Then  he  realised  that  it  must  be  an  aeroplane. 
Someone  was  putting  the  machine  through  its 
paces  above  the  seashore. 

"One  of  the  staff-officers,  I  suppose,"  Crane 
thought,  and  wondered  whether  it  were  lieutenant 
Sherrill. 

When  ready,  he  walked  down  the  trail  at  a  very 
leisurely  pace.  He  knew  that  the  road  to  Honolulu 
followed  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  he  planned  to 
return  to  Honolulu  after  dark. 

He  reached  the  road  and  turned  toward  the  city, 
ten  miles  away.  His  long  tramp  and  tremendous 
climb  had  tired  him.  He  was  undeniably  weary 
and  a  little  footsore.  He  lingered  and  looked  back 
for  a  moment  to  wave  his  hat  and  say. 


A  CAPTURE  273 

**Well,  Carding,  old  man,  your  man-hunt  was  a 
failure." 

He  turned  and  started  up  the  road  to  Honolulu. 
Then  he  saw  the  manager  of  the  X  plantation. 

The  manager  sat  on  horseback,  a  hundred  yards 
away.  He  was  followed  by  six  Koreans.  All  were 
looking  at  Crane. 

But  Crane's  motto  was,  "Never  give  up,  until 
you  have  to  give  up." 

"I'll  give  them  a  run  for  their  money,  yet,"  he 
thought,  and  he  took  to  his  heels.  He  dashed 
down  the  road.  With  a  shout,  the  manager  and 
his  men  came  in  pursuit. 

It  seemed  as  though  Crane's  tactics  would 
accomplish  absolutely  nothing  except  to  delay  his 
capture  by  a  few  minutes.  And  then  it  seemed 
as  though  those  few  minutes  would  be  shortened. 
Before  him  he  saw  a  bunch  of  cattle-men  on  horse- 
back, coming  from  a  cattle-ranch  which  lay 
in  the  immediate  vicinity.  They  raised  a  shout. 
Crane  looked  desperately  to  right  and  left.  The 
ground  on  both  sides  of  the  way  was  open.  This 
time  there  was  no  cane-field  or  grove  of  trees  in 
which  to  take  refuge.  Seemingly  there  was  not  a 
chance  for  escape. 

No  help  could  come,  unless  it  came  from  the 
clouds.     And  it  came!! 

He  heard  the  humming  of  an  aeroplane,  and  then 
he  heard  a  megaphone  voice  behind  him. 

"Catch  the  cord!     Catch  the  cord!" 

He  recognized  the  voice.  He  whirled  on  his 
heel.  The  lieutenant  was  coming  in  his  biplane. 
The  knotted  cord  dangled  from  the  framework  of 


274  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  driver's  seat.  Weighted  with  a  wrench,  it 
swung   fifty   feet  below  the   planes. 

The  picture  which  Crane  saw,  stamped  itself 
indelibly  on  his  mind;  the  biplane  swooping  to 
earth;  beneath  it  the  manager,  red-faced  and 
raging,  charging  toward  him  on  horseback;  the 
Koreans  brandishing  their  knives ;  the  volcanic  hills 
behind  and  beyond  as  a  background. 

Crane  did  not  stop  to  study  the  picture,  nor  to 
argue  as  to  why  Sherrill  should  be  there.  Suffice 
it  that  the  lieutenant  was  out  for  a  practice  spin, 
and  might  as  well  be  in  one  place  as  another. 
Never  would  he  quarrel  with  Sherrill  for  happening 
to  fly  over  that  particular  spot.  He  only  thought 
of  "catching  the  cord." 

He  had  been  an  "eleven  seconds"  man  when  in 
college,  and  a  man  running  at  the  rate  of  one 
hundred  yards  in  eleven  seconds,  is  making  nearly 
twenty  miles  an  hour.  The  plane,  with  power 
almost  shut  off,  was  going  no  faster  than  that.  As 
it  swept  toward  him.  Crane  had  no  difficulty  in 
keeping  pace  with  the  cord.  He  grasped  it  at 
his  leisure. 

With  Crane  hanging  at  the  end  of  the  rope, 
gripping  it  tenaciously  with  both  hands,  the  aero- 
plane increased  its  speed  and  lifted. 

"Here!  Take  this,"  and  Sherrill  lowered  a  long, 
sausage-shaped  affair  of  cords  and  silk.  There 
was  a  little  ring  of  iron  at  one  end,  on  which  all 
of  the  cords  seemed  to  center.  Hooking  two  fingers 
over  the  ring.  Crane  held  it  and  found  that  it  did 
not  interfere  with  his  grip  on  the  rope. 

The  aeroplane  swung  a  broad  circle  across  the 


A  CAPTURE  275 

cattle-ranch,  and  swept  back  to  the  road,  passing 
a  hundred  yards  above  the  heads  of  the  manager 
and  his  party.  It  seemed  like  adding  insult  to 
injury.  Apparently  the  manager  thought  so,  too, 
for  he  raised  his  automatic  and  emptied  it  in 
Crane's  direction.  The  action  seemed  like  a  piece 
of  childishness.  Already  the  machine  had  passed 
a  hundred  yards  beyond  him.  And  then  the 
impossible  happened. 

A  chance  bullet  grazed  one  of  Crane's  fingers 
and  cut  the  cord.  Sherrill  uttered  a  horrified  shout. 
Crane  fell  like  a  flash.  He  saw  the  earth  flying  up 
to  meet  him. 

Of  course,  the  narrow  roll  of  cords  and  silk  was 
a  parachute.  Crane  had  guessed  its  nature.  How- 
ever, parachutes  are  unreliable.  It  seemed  for  a 
moment  as  though  this  one  would  not  open.  Then 
its  silken  folds  fluttered  apart,  just  in  time.  Crane 
landed  with  nothing  worse  than  a  severe  jolt. 

The  manager  and  his  party  were  right  there. 
They  welcomed  Crane,  if  not  with  open  arms,  at 
least  with  open  handcuffs — handcuffs  which  were 
instantly  snapped  on  his  wrists. 

The  aeroplane  had  whirled  away  toward 
Diamond  Head.  There  Crane  stood  in  the  road, 
surrounded  by  grinning  Koreans,  while  the 
manager  sat  on  horseback  and  wiped  drops  of 
perspiration  from  his  forehead.  His  expression 
indicated  that  he  thought  he  had  lived  through  a 
great  deal  during  the  last  two  minutes.  His  words 
indicated  that  he  thought  that  Crane  had  lived 
through  a  great  deal. 

"That  beats  all  my  going  to  school,"  he  said  at 


276  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

last.  "Young  man,  hasn't  your  hair  turned  gray? 
You  surely  were  born  to  be  hanged,  for  nothing 
else  can  phase  you,"  and  then  he  added,  "Boys, 
let's  get  a  horse  for  this  fellow,"  for  Crane  had 
sunk  to  the  ground,  being  tired  probably. 

The  ranch-house  belonging  to  the  cattle-ranch, 
was  close  by.  There  they  hired  a  saddle-horse, 
which  Crane  must  mount  for  the  return  trip  to 
Manoa  valley.  The  visit  to  the  ranch-house 
afforded  him  an  opportunity  to  quench  his  thirst 
with  great  draughts  of  cold  water.  He  had  not 
realized  how  dry  he  was. 

Between  Diamond  Head  and  the  hills  there  was 
a  low  ridge  where  a  lava-flow  once  ran  from  hills 
to  sea.  The  party  walked  their  horses  up  its  long 
southern  face.  At  its  top  they  were  four  miles 
from  Fort  street,  three  miles  from  Manoa  valley. 

They  pushed  on  without  delay.  They  came  to 
Manoa  valley  just  as  the  day  was  waning. 

Like  a  broad,  red  target  the  sun  hung  above  the 
rim  of  the  western  horizon.  With  its  light  at 
their  backs,  they  turned  into  the  valley  road.  As 
they  entered  the  grounds  of  the  president's  man- 
sion, John  Carding  stood  on  the  verandah  to 
receive  them. 

"Welcome,  brother,"  he  chortled,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  Crane.  "You  decided  to  return,  did 
you?  You  mean  to  enjoy  our  hospitality.  We're 
ready  for  you." 

Attracted  by  his  voice,  the  president  and  his 
associates  hurried  to  the  verandah.  Atten  grinned 
vindictively. 

"Have  you  made  your  will?"  he  asked.     "The 


A  CAPTURE  277 

rope  is  ready.  Have  you  any  preference  as  to 
where  we  shall  hang  you?  Would  you  like  to 
select  the  tree?" 

"Hanging  is  the  right  word,"  the  manager 
agreed,  "but  we'll  have  some  fun  with  him  first. 
Hanging  would  be  nothing  to  him  after  the  exper- 
ience I  saw  him  go  through  to-day." 

"We  gave  him  a  few  experiences,  too,  on  our 
side  of  the  island,"  answered  Carding. 

"Then  you  saw  him." 

"We  saw  him,  and  we  nearly  had  him,  but  he 
heard  the  dogs  and  dodged  into  a  cane-field." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  the  dogs  after  him?" 

"Because  the  men  were  ready  to  fire  the  field. 
They  burned  him  out.'* 

"Did  you  see  his  escape?" 

"Not  until  he  was  halfway  up  the  cliff;  driven 
up  by  the  smoke,  I  suppose.  Then  I  saw  him 
through  a  glass.  He  looked  like  a  fly  climbing  a 
wall." 

"I  see.  He  must  have  found  the  old  trail.  He 
thought  he  could  cross  the  hills  and  double  back 
into  Honolulu.     But  I  was  ready  for  him." 

"What  sort  of  an  experience  did  you  give  him?" 

"He  had  his  experience  trying  to  escape  in  a 
flying-machine." 

"A  flying-machine!" 

"Yes.  Just  as  we  were  ready  to  take  him,  a 
biplane  came  charging  out  of  the  sky.  The 
driver  lowered  a  rope.  Crane  grabbed  it,  and  was 
whirled  up  into  the  air.  I  thought  he  was  gone, 
and  gave  him  a  parting  salute  with  my  automatic. 


278  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Perhaps  one  of  the  bullets  cut  the  cord.  At  any 
rate,  it  broke  and  down  he  came." 

"He  fell  from  an  aeroplane  and  still  lives!  How 
high  was  that  machine?" 

"Three  or  four  hundred  feet.  He  had  a  para- 
chute." 

"He  needed  one.  Too  bad  he  didn't  break  his 
neck." 

"The  parachute  barely  saved  him.  We  found 
him  pretty  badly  shaken.  Between  that  and  the 
rest  of  the  day's  work,  he  must  have  had  a  hair- 
raising  experience.  He  escaped  from  the  dogs 
to  get  into  the  fire,  you  say.  He  escaped  from  the 
fire  to  be  driven  up  the  cliff  by  the  smoke.  He 
nearly  broke  his  neck  climbing  the  cliff,  and  got 
across  the  hills  to  be  met  by  me.  He  escaped 
from  me  for  a  minute  by  aeroplane,  but  fell  from 
the  machine.  He  saved  his  life  by  means  of  a 
parachute  and  fell  right  into  my  hands.  That 
ought  to  convince  him  that  he  can't  escape  us." 

As  the  manager  rehearsed  this  catalogue  of 
dangers, — dogs,  fire,  smoke,  cliff-climbing,  escape 
by  biplane  and  fall  from  mid-air, — it  occurred  to 
Crane  that  the  experience  might  be  copyrighted 
as  material  for  a  highly  sensational  motion-picture 
drama.  However,  he  was  far  from  feeling  that 
he  was  at  the  end  of  his  rope,  even  if  the  manager 
did  propose  to  hang  him.  But  another  man 
remained  to  be  reckoned  with. 

"Let  me  make  a  suggestion,"  Carding  volun- 
teered. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  Hurry  up."  The  manager 
was  impatient. 


A  CAPTURE  279 

"Do  you  remember  the  Death  Chamber  at  the 
palace?" 

No,  the  manager  never  had  heard  of  it. 

"I  know  the  place  you  mean,"  answered  the 
president.  "But  you  don't  want  to  behead  him,  do 
you?" 

"No ;  but  they  have  some  of  the  finest  implements 
of  torture  there,  ever  found  outside  of  a  museum; 
some  rare  old  bone-twisters.     Let's  use  them." 

The  president  reflected  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
answered,  "I  believe  it  could  be  managed.  But 
we'll  talk  it  over  later.  Lock  him  up  with  his 
Japanese  brothers  for  the  present.  We'll  have  our 
dinner  now,  and  talk  of  torture  afterward." 

And  Carding  and  the  manager,  well  satisfied  with 
the  result  of  what  they  called  a  "good  day's  work," 
followed  the  president  along  the  verandah  to  where 
the  dining-table  had  been  set  in  the  open  air. 


XXI 

THE  PALACE  OF   THE   ISLAND  KING 

BESIDE  one  of  the  widest  and  most  delightful 
avenues  in  Honolulu  a  party  of  tourists  stood 
facing  a  pedestal  of  lava-stone  embellished  with 
bronze  reliefs  of  scenes  in  the  history  of  Hawaii. 
On  their  way  to  visit  the  territorial  Capitol 
professor  Burl  and  his  party  had  stopped  before  a 
relief  showing  the  ship  of  Captain  Cook  exploring  a 
tranquil  tropic  sea  which  ran  to  a  shore  where 
rioted  a  tangled  grove  of  cocoa-palms  and  tree- 
ferns.  Above,  on  the  summit  of  the  pedestal, 
stood  a  statue  of  a  Hawaiian  king, — erect,  dignified, 
graceful,  with  one  arm  extended,  a  gilded  mantle 
sweeping  from  his  shoulders  to  his  feet.  Sunbeams 
glowed  on  the  golden  folds  of  the  trailing  robe 
and  glittered  on  the  golden  helmet.  An  inscription 
informed  the  public  that  the  statue  represented  the 
great  King,  the  Philip  of  Macedon  of  the  Hawaiian 
Isles,  who  had  united  all  of  the  islands  under  a 
single  rule. 

The  statue  faced  the  territorial  Capitol.  It 
seemed  appropriate  that  the  king  should  look 
toward  the  Capitol,  for  once  it  had  been 
the  royal  palace.  Originally  built  for  a  semi- 
barbaric  monarch,  it  still  retained  almost  the  tone 
it  had  possessed  in  the  days  of  the  kingdom.     It 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   281 

was  vast  and  square  and  was  surrounded  with  deep, 
cool  galleries,  set  behind  graceful  arches.  Within 
the  galleries  little  circular  mirrors  were  fastened 
against  the  wall  at  regular  intervals.  Their  bright 
polished  circles  added  a  bit  of  glitter  which 
caught  and  pleased  the  eye. 

The  building  was  of  cream-colored  concrete. 
Its  plan  was  quite  novel,  for  the  designer 
had  tried  to  effect  a  compromise  between 
many  types  of  architecture — the  French,  the  British 
and  the  Spanish,  adding  some  features  from  the 
Persian,  and  a  few  from  the  Chinese.  The  result 
might  be  called  conglomerate.  In  a  mainland  city 
it  would  look  a  little  odd.  But  it  harmonized  so 
happily  with  its  tropical  setting,  that  I  doubt  if  any- 
one would  have  altered  it.    Burl  frankly  admired  it. 

As  soon  as  the  tourists  entered  the  Capitol 
grounds,  they  saw  a  graceful  park  opening  before 
them.  Everywhere  were  palms.  There  were  tall, 
slender  cocoa-palms,  rustling  in  the  slightest 
breath  from  the  sea;  and  long  lines  of  royal  palms, 
stately  as  the  columns  of  an  antique  temple;  and 
there  were  little  fan-palms,  fluttering  their  fans  by 
the  side  of  the  walks.  Beside  the  palms  were 
immense  banyans  from  India  and  oaks  from  Aus- 
tralia and  native  trees  from  the  hills  of  Hawaii, 
shading  wide  lawns  embroidered  with  the  flaming 
scarlet  of  poppies  or  with  the  more  delicate  tints 
of  the  flowers  of  Polynesia;  all  the  coloiv  the 
languor,  the  fascination  of  the  tropics.  The 
Hawaiian  sun  was  pouring  its  warm  rays  down 
upon    the    exotic    trees,    burnishing   their    lustrous 


282  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

green  to  jade  and  emerald;  and  in  their  midst  rose 
the  palace,  galleried  and  many-windowed. 

The  party  lingered  for  a  minute,  just  inside  the 
gateway.  Straight  before  them  they  saw  a  double 
row  of  royal  palms,  bordering  the  driveway  which 
led  to  the  palace.  At  the  farther  end,  framed 
between  the  trees,  rose  a  long,  wide  flight  of  steps 
leading  to  the  high  pillared  arch  of  the  entrance. 
Tourists  were  descending  the  steps.  The  young 
men  wore  white  linen  suits  and  straw  hats.  The 
young  ladies  were  in  white  dresses.  They  carried 
tinted  parasols.  The  light  costumes  showed 
brilliantly  against  the  weathered  stone,  adding  a 
bit  of  brightness  and  color  and  motion  which  set 
off  the  stately  architecture,  and  enhanced  the  effect. 

"Truly  a  palace  for  a  king!!"  said  Burl.  "The 
Capitol  is  an  architectural  dream.  Not  ten  buildings 
in  ten  thousand  are  as  beautiful  as  it.  And  yet, 
with  all  its  charm,  there  seems  to  be  something 
lacking.  It  lacks  the  royal  state  of  a  kingly  court. 
It  almost  makes  one  regret  that  royalty  has  been 
abolished  from  Hawaii." 

Now  the  party  started  to  walk  up  the  avenue. 
Their  plan  was  to  visit  the  departments  of  the 
Capitol.  As  they  went,  they  plied  their  Hawaiian 
guide  with  questions  about  everything  that  caught 
their  attention.  There  was  a  bandstand  on  the 
lawn,  and  it  attracted  the  professor's  eye. 

"I  suppose  that  is  the  stand  which  was  built  for 
the  king's  musicians — the  Royal  Hawaiian  band?" 
he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir.  I've  heard  them  a  hundred  times, 
playing  in  that  bandstand." 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   283 

"And  was  the  Royal  Hawaiian  band  the  same 
organization  as  the  territorial  band  of  to-day?" 

"Yes,  sir;  that  is,  the  same  man  has  led  the  band 
ever  since  it  was  organized." 

"And  when  was  that?" 

"It  was  when  the  last  king  came  to  his  throne, 
nearly  forty  years  ago.  In  that  year  a  German 
bandmaster  was  imported — one  well  trained  in 
Wagnerian  music,  and  bringing  with  him  a  full 
collection  of  all  the  instruments  used  in  a  German 
military  band.  I  can  remember  the  day  he  landed 
in  Honolulu.  At  once  he  selected  a  crew  of  natives 
and  began  to  train  them.  The  natives  took  most 
kindly  to  the  training,  for  the  Hawaiians  are  a 
music-loving  people.  He  organized  a  band  of  forty 
pieces,  which  boasted  two  base-drums  and  half  a 
dozen  deep-toned  horns  so  large  they  must  circle 
the  bodies  of  those  who  blew  them. 

"On  all  state  occasions  the  musicians  attended 
the  king.  Ah,  those  were  the  good  old  days! 
Imagine  the  island-monarch  leaving  his  palace, 
escorted  by  his  guards,  the  sunlight  glancing 
on  the  lines  of  slanting  bayonets,  the  Royal 
Hawaiian  band  at  the  head  of  the  column.  Imagine 
the  cheers  of  the  picturesque  crowd,  the  crash  of 
the  music,  the  pungent  odor  of  spent  powder !  But 
the  glory  and  spirit  of  those  times  have  gone, 
never  to  return." 

When  the  guide  mentioned  the  king,  he  removed 
his  hat.  His  bronze  face  glowed  as  he  dwelt  on 
the  glories  of  the  old  regime.  He  carried  his 
hearers  with  him  on  the  current  of  his  enthusiasm. 

But  Burl  was  surprised  to  see  a  Hawaiian  dis- 


284  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

playing  so  much  sentiment.  He  had  believed 
Hawaiians  an  unthinking  and  materialistic  lot. 

The  guide  led  them  up  the  wide  stone  steps  and 
within  the  square  entrance.  He  would  conduct  them 
through  the  legislative  chambers. 

To  reach  those  chambers  they  must  pass  the 
the  office  of  the  territorial  governor.  From  the  door 
of  the  office  there  hurried  an  army-officer  in  full 
uniform, — a  tall,  straight,  muscular,  well-built  man, 
his  uniform  fitting  him  like  a  glove.  They  recog- 
nized lieutenant  Sherrill. 

"I  don't  want  him  to  think  I  hold  any  ill-will 
on  account  of  that  mistake  at  the  W  plantation," 
Burl  thought,  and  he  came  with  hand  extended  to 
greet  the  lieutenant. 

The  lieutenant  was  equally  eager  to  acknowledge 
the  greeting.  A  minute  before  he  had  seemed  to 
be  in  all  the  rush  of  a  man  on  "official  business." 
Now  he  had  plenty  of  time.  In  fact,  he  would 
accompany  the  party  on  its  tour  of  the  Capitol. 

He  fell  into  step  beside  a  tall  girl,  all  in  white, 
with  a  light  blue  ribbon  around  her  blond  hair. 
On  the  shoulder  of  her  dress  there  blushed  a  pink 
rose.  Her  cheeks  were  as  pink  as  its  petals.  A 
great  wreath  of  crimson  carnations  fell  from  her 
shoulders  to  far  below  the  waist  of  her  dress,  a 
gorgeous  bit  of  tropical  color  against  the  white 
fabric. 

"Is  this  your  first  visit  to  the  Capitol,  Miss 
Burl?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  it  is  our  second.  We  were  here  some 
days  ago,  but  we  brought  no  one  with  us  to  show 
us  around,  and  our  visit  was  not  very  satisfactory." 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   285 

"Then  you  prefer  to  have  a  guide?" 

"Indeed,  we  do!  When  we  were  here  before, 
all  we  could  do  was  to  ramble  through  the  park 
and  wander  wonderingly  beneath  those  vast 
porticoes.  We  had  no  one  to  explain  anything 
to    us." 

"If  only  you  had  let  me  know,  I  should  have 
been  only  too  happy  to  conduct  you.  But  perhaps 
you  never  would  have  dared  trust  yourselves  to 
my  guidance,  after  your  experience  that  after- 
noon." 

"Don't  think  so  for  a  moment!  We  have  for- 
gotten everything  that  happened  that  afternoon, 
except  its  very  delightful  conclusion." 

"That's  very  nice  of  you.  And  is  your  guide 
a  success?" 

"He  is  perfect!  He  is  a  real  Hawaiian,  who  was 
here  at  the  time  when  the  Islands  were  ruled  by 
a  king — the  king  who  built  this  palace.  How  much 
more  interesting  he  makes  our  visit!  He  is  simply 
wrapped  up  in  the  glory  of  the  old  days!" 

"Yes,  the  Hawaiians  are  a  people  who  appreciate 
display,  and  the  king  gratified  their  love  for  that 
sort  of  thing.     The  king  was  very  fond  of  show." 

"So  we  judged,  from  what  our  guide  told  us. 
He  has  been  describing  the  days  when  the  king 
occupied  this  building  as  his  palace." 

Now  they  had  entered  one  of  the  legislative 
halls,  and  the  guide  was  expatiating  on  the 
brilliance  of  the  court  which  had  been  held  in  that 
very  apartment. 

"Do  you  believe  it  actually  was  as  brilliant  as  he 
claims?"  Miss  Burl  asked  the  lieutenant. 


286  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

The  lieutenant  endorsed  the  guide,  without 
reserve. 

**I  have  always  understood  that  the  last  king 
was  very  fond  of  display.  Before  he  came  to  the 
throne  the  Hawaiian  monarchy  was  no  better  than 
an  advanced  form  of  barbarism.  But  Kalakaua 
had  ambitions.  He  would  imitate  European  roy- 
alty. He  aimed  to  reign  with  regal  magnificence, 
— Kalakaua,  King  of  the  Hawaiians.  Although 
he  had  only  a  hundred  thousand  subjects,  he  sent 
a  commission  to  Europe  to  study  and  report  upon 
the  ways  of  kings.  He  himself  made  a  journey 
around  the  world.  After  his  return  his  palace 
blazed  with  glory  and  glitter.  I'm  sure  it  was  as 
the  guide  says." 

"He  seems  to  believe  the  palace  showed  best 
at  night." 

"Is  there  not  a  charm  in  artificial  illumination, 
which  the  full  glare  of  day  never  possesses?" 

"Isn't  there,  though?  I  should  have  loved  to 
come  here  on  one  of  those  nights  that  our  guide 
describes.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Sherrill,  is  the  Capitol 
always  closed  at  night  nowadays?" 

"It  is  unless  the  legislature  is  in  session  and 
prolongs  its  sitting  into  the  night.  Then  you 
might  have  an  opportunity  to  see  these  rooms 
illuminated." 

"And  when  will  the  legislature  be  in  session?" 

"Not  for  many  months;  the  legislature  does  not 
meet  this  year." 

"Then  we  shall  have  to  give  up  all  notions  of 
visiting  the  palace  by  night?" 

Had   the   speaker   been   anyone   else   than   Miss 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   287 

Burl,  the  lieutenant  would  have  simply  agreed  and 
let  the  matter  drop.  Under  the  circumstances, 
he  "wondered  whether  it  couldn't  be  arranged?" 

"I  have  a  little  influence,"  he  explained,  "and 
I  think  I  might  arrange  for  a  permit.  Of  course, 
there  would  be  a  small  expense  for  lights  and 
janitor.  But,  if  your  father  thinks  as  you  do 
about  it,  and  feels  that  he  could  entrust  himself 
and  his  party  to  me " 

"Now,  please  don't  bring  that  up,  Mr.  Sherrill," 
flashing  him  a  smile  of  thanks. 

"And,  as  for  my  father,  I'll  persuade  him  in  two 
minutes,"  and  she  hurried  to  the  professor. 

At  that  moment  a  page  stepped  into  the  room. 
He  was  followed  by  a  stout  man,  of  rather  more 
than  middle  age,  dressed  in  a  white  duck  suit.  The 
man  was  aggressively  square-shouldered  and  red- 
faced.  His  iron-gray  beard  was  trimmed  rather 
short. 

The  boy  pointed  out  lieutenant  Sherrill. 

"There's  the  party  you're  looking  for,"  he  said. 

The  man  turned  to  the  lieutenant. 

"Are  you  lieutenant  Sherrill,  from  Fort  Ruger?" 
1  am. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  reach  you  by  telephone. 
The  reason  why  I  wish  to  see  you  is  because  I 
am  looking  for  a  Mr.  Kenneth  Crane.  He  is  not 
at  his  hotel.  They  referred  me  to  you.  They 
suggested  that  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  to 
find  him." 

The   lieutenant   hesitated. 

"I  am  not  informed  as  to  where   Mr.  Crane  is 


288  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

just  now.  Did  he  leave  no  word  as  to  when  he 
will  return  to  his  hotel?" 

"None  whatever." 

The  lieutenant  eyed  his  visitor  half  doubtfully 
and  then  inquired, 

"May  I  ask  your  name  and  the  nature  of  your 
business  with  Mr.    Crane?" 

"I  am  James  Coburn,  sir,  master  of  the  Amer- 
ican ship  Agamemnon.  If  I  can  find  Mr.  Crane, 
it  will  be  to  his  advantage." 

Sherrill  remembered  Coburn  was  one  of  the 
minority  stockholders.  Slowly  he  drew  a  letter 
from  an  inner  pocket. 

"I  received  this  note  last  night.  It  is  the 
latest  communication  I  have  had  from  Crane.  It 
is  rather  indefinite,  but  it  may  be  of  some 
assistance,"  and  he  handed  it  to  the  captain. 

The  captain  read  as  follows: 


My  dear  lieutenant:  Please  don't  give  yourself  any 
concern  over  what  you  saw  this  afternoon.  The  whole 
affair  was  the  outcome  of  a  practical  joke  plus  a  mistake 
on  my  part.  While  a  little  shaken  by  my  thrilling 
experience,  I  am  all  right,  and  am  about  to  enjoy  for 
a  few  days  a  very  delightful  sojourn  with  some  very 
good  friends  of  mine.  They  are  doing  their  best  to 
entertain  me.  In  fact  we  are  planning  a  night  visit  to 
the  territorial  Capitol  for  to-morrow  evening.  Later, 
if  you  are  interested,  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  calling  at 
your  quarters,  to  explain  how  the  mistake  occurred. 
Yours  very  truly,  Kenneth  Crane. 

"This  note  was  brought  to  the  Fort  last  night," 
the  lieutenant  explained,  for  it  was  the  morning 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   289 

after  Crane's  escape  and  capture.  "The  messen- 
ger gave  it  to  a  sentry,  who  brought  it  to  me." 

The  captain  studied  the  message. 

"It  sounds  a  little  peculiar,"  he  said.  "Of  course, 
I  don't  know  what  the  incident  was  to  which  he 

refers,     but .      Do    you     think     this     note     is 

genuine?  Are  you  sure  this  is  Crane's  hand- 
writing?" 

"I  thought  of  that,  and  I  compared  it  with 
another  note,  which  he  sent  to  me  once  before. 
The  writing  appears  to  be  the  same,  although 
this  note  shows  traces  of  haste  and  nervousness, 
which  are  no  more  than  natural.  I  happen  to 
know  that  Crane  had  been  under  considerable 
nervous  strain,  yesterday,"  and  the  lieutenant 
thought  to  himself, 

"Strain  enough  to  destroy  the  nerve  of  a 
government    mule." 

Professor  Burl  approached  and  addressed  the 
officer : 

"My  daughter  tells  me  that  you  have  been  so 
kind  as  to  offer  to  get  us  permission  to  make 
a  night  visit  to  the  Capitol,  this  evening.  We 
should  be  most  happy  to  avail  ourselves  of  the 
offer,  and  to  defray  any  expense  that  might  be 
incurred." 

The  captain  caught  the  words.  They  gave 
him  an  idea.  If  he  were  to  join  Sherrill's  party 
that  night,  it  would  give  him  an  opportunity  to 
meet  Crane  and  his  party,  and  to  meet  them  in 
a  perfectly  natural  way.  It  would  suit  his  plans 
to  a  T.     He  said  as  much  to  Sherrill. 


290  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

In  a  few  words  the  lieutenant  explained  the 
situation  to  Burl.     An  introduction  followed. 

"Anyone  whom  lieutenant  Sherrill  brings,  will 
be  very  welcome  to  our  party,"  Burl  protested. 

Now  that  Sherrill  was  interested,  the  whole 
matter  moved  on  oiled  wheels.  He  made  another 
visit  to  the  governor's  office,  where  the  necessary 
permit  for  "lieutenant  Sherrill  and  party"  was 
secured  in  a  moment.  The  janitor  was  summoned 
and  interviewed.  He  would  be  only  too  happy 
to  earn  a  gratuity  by  being  there  that  evening 
to  unlock  and  light  the  building.  Captain  Coburn 
would  meet  the  party  at  the  hotel. 

It  was  eight  p.  m.  when  they  met  in  the  lobby 
of  the  hotel.  Captain  Coburn  was  there.  He 
had  exchanged  his  light  straw  hat  for  a  black 
broad-brim,  and  his  white  duck  suit  for  a  blue 
serge. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  the 
western  gateway  to  the  Capitol  grounds.  They 
saw  the  great  building,  with  all  of  its  windows 
alight,  glowing  nobly  among  the  trees.  While  the 
grounds  were  not  "spangled  with  hundreds  of 
lanterns,"  their  dark  shade  rendered  the  illumi- 
nation of  the  Capitol  the  more  impressive.  As 
the  party  ascended  the  short  avenue,  the  great 
square  portal  showed  before  them  a  blaze  of 
light,  in  which  they  saw  in  black  silhouette  the 
figure  of  a  servant  who  would  conduct  them 
through    the    galleries    and   halls. 

They  entered  a  wide  vestibule  and  ascended  a 
curving  staircase,  came  to  a  pair  of  doors 
magnificently  carved  from  koa  wood,  and  waited 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   291 

while  their  guide  unlocked  them.  He  bowed  the 
party  into  a  room  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
a  hundred  royal  receptions  when  the  king  was 
on   his   throne. 

In  the  days  of  the  Hawaiian  monarchy  it  had 
been  the  royal  audience  chamber.  The  frescoed 
ceiling  still  was  decorated  with  the  arms  of 
Hawaii.  The  dais  was  furnished  with  a  pair  of 
high  plush  chairs,  upholstered  in  scarlet  and  gold, 
and  above  them  hung  a  superb  plush  canopy, 
heavily  brocaded  and  crowned  with  a  golden  eagle, 
for  they  were  the  throne-chairs  on  which 
the  king  and  his  consort  had  rested.  Between  them 
was  a  doorway  leading  from  a  robing-room; 
it  was  covered  with  portieres  of  deep,  rich,  moss- 
green  velvet.  All  around  the  walls  were  richly 
framed  canvases, — portraits  of  European  kings  and 
of  former  native  rulers.  Great  prism  chandeliers, 
glittering  with  crystal  pendants,  searched  the 
apartment    with    their    light. 

The  rich  carpet  under  foot,  the  soft  tints  of 
the  walls,  and  the  paintings  in  their  gilded  frames, 
blended  with  the  carven  oak  and  glittering 
upholstery  to  leave  ap  impression  of  utter 
sumptuousness. 

"What  a  setting  for  a  court-reception!!"  said 
Miss  Burl.  "How  this  hall  must  have  sparkled 
when  filled  with  brilliant  uniforms  and  rich 
dresses,  'fair  women  and  brave  men,*  and  all  the 
rest,  you  know." 

She  was  speaking  to  lieutenant  Sherrill,  who 
had  gravitated  to  her  side,  somehow.  He  thought 
that    never    had    the    young    lady    looked    more 


292  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

charming.  She  wore  her  white  silk  dinner  dress, 
and  had  thrown  the  wrap  aside.  In  deference  to 
the  tropical  climate,  the  officer  wore  a  white 
uniform.  The  uniforms  of  the  "staff"  had 
greater  possibilities  than  those  of  the  "line."  His 
tunic  glittered  with  golden  shoulder-straps  and 
braid. 

Now  they  stood  face  to  face.  Behind  them  a 
great  curtain  of  the  richest,  deepest,  moss-green 
velvet  hung  in  heavy  folds.  The  deep  folds  of  the 
curtain,  the  glitter  of  the  uniform,  the  light 
glancing  on  the  lady's  dress,  combined  to  make 
a  brilliant  picture.  But  perhaps  Miss  Burl's 
girlish  face  was  more  delightful  than  all  the 
rest. 

"Imagine  the  scene,"  she  continued,  "when  these 
portieres  were  flung  wide,  and  the  dusky  announcer 
shouted  *The  King,'  and  the  island  monarch 
entered,  bowing  to  right  and  left,  his  consort 
leaning  on  his  arm!" 

The  lieutenant  smiled  at  her  sparkling 
enthusiasm.  Then  he  suggested  that  her  reference 
to  brilliant  uniforms  at  the  king's  receptions,  was 
particularly  happy. 

"They  say  that  the  state  costumes  of  the  king 
and  his  cabinet  were  miracles  of  gorgeousness," 
he  explained.  Then  he  paused  and  repeated  the 
words  "miracles  of  gorgeousness."  He  seemed  to 
like  the  phrase. 

"They  say,"  he  continued,  "that  the  artist  who 
designed  those  uniforms,  attempted  to  snatch  all 
the  colors  from  the  spectrum  and  all  the  glory 
from  the  aurora  borealis.     Such  combinations   of 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   293 

scarlet  brocade,  sky-blue  velvet  and  gold  lace  have 
seldom  been  seen  in  the  world's  history.  In  fact, 
they  say  that  the  reign  of  his  dusky  majesty  was 
one  long  vaudeville  performance." 

"I  suppose,"  the  young  lady  answered,  "that 
when  a  people  make  their  first  attempts  at  playing 
at  royalty,  those  attempts  are  apt  to  be  a  little 
crude.  But  I  can't  help  regretting  that  those  days 
are  gone." 

"I  wouldn't,"  he  answered. 

"Yet  they  certainly  had  the  glory  and  glitter 
of  outward  show." 

"I  know.    Pomp  and  parade  and  publicity." 

"And  we  may  regret  their  picturesque  side." 

"Yes.  But  on  the  inside  there  was  nothing  but 
license  and  licentiousness.  The  old  simile  of  the 
marble  sepulcher  fitted  the  court  precisely." 

"Beautiful  to  see " 

"But  within,  all  was  corruption.  And  there  was 
a  cruel  side  to  the  Hawaiian  kings.  In  former 
reigns,  according  to  the  old  custom,  the  fate  of 
anyone  who  tried  to  interfere  with  the  king's 
prerogatives,  had  been  perfectly  certain.  The 
execution  had  been  very  sudden  and  very  informal 
— so  informal  that,  in  some  reigns,  the  king  himself 
had  served  as  executioner.  But  when  the  last  king 
came  to  the  throne,  he  would  introduce  more 
formality.  The  method  of  administering  the 
punishment,  would  be  more  awe-inspiring.  He 
ordered  a  Death  Chamber  as  one  of  the  appoint- 
ments of  his  palace. 

"It  was  constructed  deep  within  the  foundations. 
It  was  built  of  dark  volcanic  stone,  with  walls  so 


294  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

thick  that  not  a  groan  might  reach  the  outer  air. 
Within  it  were  placed  the  head's-man's  block  and 
axe,  of  the  most  approved  medieval  pattern.  And 
there  were  installed  instruments  of  torture,  calcu- 
lated to  wring  confession  from  the  most  stoical, — 
the  wheel,  the  rack,  the  screw." 

"Oh,  horrors!" 

"Pray  don't  distress  yourself,  for  the  things 
never  were  used.  At  first  they  were  a  laughing- 
stock. Later  they  were  forgotten.  To-day  there 
are  very  few  in  Honolulu  who  know  that  such  a 
place  ever  existed." 

"But  what  became  of  the  place?" 

"I  suppose  it  still  is  there.  In  fact,  the  only 
time  its  use  was  seriously  proposed  was  after  the 
king's  death." 

"Who  was  so  hard-hearted  as  to  propose  it?" 

"It  was  the  queen,  his  successor,  and  this  was 
how  it  came  about.  After  the  queen  had  been 
driven  from  her  throne,  and  a  republic  had  been 
set  up.  Congress  sent  a  representative  to  Honolulu, 
to  consider  her  restoration.  The  queen  was  asked 
whether,  if  restored  to  power,  she  would  grant  a 
general  amnesty.  She  answered  that  "she 
would  grant  it  to  all  except  the  leaders;  as  for 
them,  the  law  must  take  its  course."  The  law 
meant — decapitation.  That  answer  settled  the 
question  as  to  whether  Congress  would  restore  the 
queen  to  power." 

"She  must  have  been  vindictive." 

"You  must  remember  her  descent  from  a  long 
line  of  savage  and  barbaric  ancestors  and  judge  her 
accordingly." 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   295 

While  they  talked,  the  other  members  of  the 
party  had  left  the  room.  A  little  embarrassed,  they 
turned  to  follow. 

The  lieutenant's  account  of  the  Death  Chamber 
had  stimulated  Miss  Burl's  imagination. 

"I  can  imagine  the  secret  vault,  given  up  to  dust 
and  cobwebs,"  she  said,  "locked  and  forgotten, 
down  among  the  foundations.  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be 
an  adventure  if  we  could  find  it!  Have  you  ever 
seen  it,  Mr.  Sherrill?" 

"It  has  been  pointed  out  to  me.  We  army- 
officers  are  initiated  into  many  things  of  which  the 
general  public  knows  very  little." 

"Then  you  could  find  it  for  us." 

"I  certainly  could,  Miss  Burl.  No  doubt  this 
man  who  opened  the  building  for  us,  has  the  key." 

"Do  get  him  to  open  it  for  us.  Just  think  what 
an  adventure!  All  of  us  creeping  by  the  light  of 
a  lantern,  along  some  dark  and  narrow  passage, 
between  walls  of  volcanic  rock,  until  we  reach  the 
mysterious  chamber,  where  we  shall  see  grim 
relics  which  will  recall  to  our  minds  those  we  saw 
in  the  Tower  of  London." 

The  lieutenant  needed  no  urging.  He  hurried 
to  speak  to  the  man  who  carried  the  keys.  But 
the  man  denied  all  knowledge  of  such  a  room.  A 
native  Hawaiian,  he  was  loyal  t®  his  former  rulers. 
He  asserted  indignantly  that  the  king  never  would 
have  tolerated  such  a  place. 

"That  sounds  queer,"  Sherrill  thought  "He 
seems  a  little  too  indignant.  There  is  something 
very  odd  about  this  fellow." 

He  had  a  fair  recollection  of  the  location  of  the 


296  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

room.  While  the  man  led  the  party  around  one 
of  the  galleries,  Sherrill  drew  an  electric  torch  from 
his  pocket,  quietly  separated  himself  from  the 
others,  and  sought  the  basement  of  the  building. 

He  found  the  passage  which  he  remembered  as 
leading  to  the  room.  It  was  almost  as  Miss  Burl 
had  imagined  it, — low  and  narrow  and  running 
between  walls  of  black  volcanic  rock.  He  traversed 
it  by  the  glow  of  his  electric  torch.  Suddenly  he 
shut  off  the  light.  A  sharp  bend  in  the  passage 
had  brought  him  before  the  door,  which  instead 
of  being  locked,  was  partly  open.  Within  the  room 
there  were  lights  and  noises.  Sherrill  decided  to 
investigate  before  announcing  himself. 

Cautiously  he  reconnoitered.  What  he  saw  was 
quite  enough.  He  hurried  to  the  upper  floors  and 
sought  captain  Cobum. 

"Captain  Cobum,"  he  began,  "will  you  oblige 
me  by  coming  to  one  side?  I  want  to  speak  with 
you." 

The  captain  came. 

"You  came  here  this  evening,  expecting  to  meet 
another  party,  which  would  include   Mr.    Crane." 

"Yes,  sir.     He's  the  man  I'm  looking  for." 

"Have  you  any  idea  he  might  have  gotten  him- 
self into  some  difficulty?" 

"He  might.' 

"In  case  you  found  he  had  gotten  into  difficulties, 
would  you  be  inclined  to  help  him?" 

"If  the  officers  of  the  X  Sugar  Company  were 
making  the  trouble,  I'd  certainly  help  him  all  I 
could." 

"Then  come  with  me." 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING   297 

They  descended  to  the  vaults  and  threaded  the 
narrow  passage,  the  glow  of  Sherrill's  electric 
torch  playing  on  the  stone  walls  as  they 
went.  Suddenly  the  lieutenant  snapped  off  the 
light.  He  and  Captain  Cobum,  themselves  unseen, 
stopped  where  they  could  glimpse  the  interior  of 
the  Torture  Chamber. 

They  lurked  in  the  shadow  and  peered  around  a 
corner  of  the  passage.  It  was  a  cave-like  room  into 
which  they  looked.  The  low  ceiling  of  the  vault 
hung  in  heavy  arches.  The  walls  were  solid  and 
unbroken.  The  floor  was  the  dark  stone. 
.  The  place  was  perhaps  twenty  feet  square.  The 
only  light  was  furnished  by  electric  torches,  which 
played  fitfully  over  walls  and  furnishings. 

Those  furnishings  were  as  Sherrill  had  said — 
modern  copies  of  the  instruments  of  torture  of 
the  Middle  Ages;  vague  and  only  half  revealed  by 
the  uncertain  light. 

On  one  of  them — a  heavy  wooden  frame,  resemb- 
ling a  low  bed — a  Japanese  was  stretched.  At  the 
head  of  the  bed  two  Koreans  revolved  a  windlass. 
The  side  of  the  framework  was  toward  the 
entrance.  Beyond  it  the  manager  and  officers  of 
the  X  Sugar  Company  rested  on  chairs.  Crane 
stood  between  two  Korean  guards.  In  the  back- 
ground groups  of  Japanese  were  guarded. 

The  dull  glow  of  electric  torches,  the  pale,  death- 
like faces  of  the  Koreans,  the  low,  frightened 
chattering  of  the  Japanese,  made  a  scene  which  was 
weirdly  impressive.  Except  the  frightened  mur- 
murs of  the  prisoners  and  the  creaking  of  the 
windlass,   there  was   no  sound  to   be  heard   save 


298  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

the  low  humming  of  a  fan  which  drew  air  to  the 
room  through  a  subterranean  passage. 

As  Sherrill  studied  the  scene,  he  wondered  that 
they  had  not  commenced  with  Crane.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  manager  had  proposed  it. 

"Let's  begin  with  this  fellow,"  he  had  said,  and 
had  struck  a  stinging  blow  with  his  riding-glove 
on  the  side  of  Crane's  face. 

"Let's  end  with  this  fellow,"  Atten  had  inter- 
rupted. "Let's  have  him  see  the  fate  of  his  helpers 
first.  We'll  torture  him  fifteen  times  over  that 
way." 

Now  they  thought  Crane  absorbed  in  watching 
the  "expedient  ruthlessness"  of  the  punishment  of 
the  Japanese.  They  thought  his  m.ind  full  of 
wretchedness  as  he  sensed  what  would  come  to 
him.  It  would  have  surprised  them  to  know  that 
his  thoughts  were  drifting  from  the  room.  A  man's 
thoughts  and  his  situation,  frequently  are  incon- 
gruous enough. 

Crane's  mind  reverted  to  the  morning  of  his 
arrival  in  Honolulu,  when  from  the  deck  of  the 
"Nevada"  he  had  beheld  for  the  first  time  the 
gorgeous  tropical  landscape.  He  recalled  vividly 
the  pictures  he  had  watched  from  the  steamship 
— the  white  coral,  the  blue  sea,  the  green  palms — 
the  rolling  of  the  waves,  the  foaming  of  the  surf, 
the  waving  of  graceful  branches.  That  memory 
evoked  another,  of  those  delicious  days  spent  in 
circumnavigating  the  island.  How  remote  it  all 
seemed  now!  Well,  he  who  embarks  in  hazardous 
enterprises  must  be  ready  to  take  the  consequences. 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  ISLAND  KING    299 

But  now  captain  Coburn  was  watching,  and 
Coburn's  mind  did  not  wander  from  the  business 
in  hand.  He  rose  to  the  situation.  In  a  breathless 
whisper  he  outlined  his  plan  to  Sherrill.  Noise- 
lessly he  made  his  way  to  the  upper  floor;  then 
rushed  from  the  building. 


XXII 

COBURN    TO    THE    RESCUE 

FROM  the  palace  to  Borneo  pier  the  distance 
was  a  scant  half-mile,  and  at  Borneo  pier  the 
four-masted  ship  Agamemnon  lay  moored.  Its 
tall  masts  and  heavy  spars  rose  dimly  in  the  still 
night  air,  looming  above  the  broad  roof  of  the 
shed  which  covered  the  wharf.  The  great  arched 
entrance  to  the  shed  yawned,  black  and  cavernous, 
before  captain  Coburn. 

He  entered  hurriedly.  The  sound  of  his  heavy 
tread  on  the  concrete,  aroused  the  watchman,  who 
came  running.  But  he  recognized  the  captain, 
and  escorted  him  to  the  Agamemnon's  gang- 
plank. 

On    board    a   sailing-ship    the    quarters    for    the 
officers   are   aft;   those   for  the   men   are   forward 
Coburn  turned  toward  the  Agamemnon's  cabin.  He 
found  the  door  to  Mr.  Swanson's  stateroom,  and 
rapped. 

"Who's   there?" 

"The  captain.     I  need  you.  Swanson." 

"Yes,  sir.  One  minute,"  and  Coburn  heard  the 
scraping  of  a  match.  The  first  mate  flung  himself 
into  his  clothes,  while  the  captain  was  arousing 
the  second  mate.  All  three  men  met  at  the  square 
dining-table,  where  Coburn  had  coaxed  a  light  to 
the  wick  of  the  swinging  lamp. 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  301 

"What's  up,  captain?" 

"Sit  down,  boys,  and  111  tell  you.  A  bunch  of 
sharks  have  hold  of  a  friend  of  mine.  They  haven't 
done  much  to  him,  so  far,  but  I  guess  they  mean 
to  torture  the  life  out  of  him,  before  they  finish. 
What  do  you  say  if  we  rouse  the  crew,  arm  them 
with  capstan-bars,  and  clean  out  the  gang?  Are 
you  with  me?" 

"You  bet  we  are,  captain!"  Both  mates  were 
emphatic. 

"Good!  We've  thirty  men  for'ad.  They'll  handle 
those  sharks  as  though  they  were  yellow  dogs." 

Captain  Coburn  was  quite  correct  when  he  said 
he  "had  thirty  good  men  forward."  Whatever  the 
lurid  sensation-monger  may  say  to  the  contrary, 
competent  seaman  can  be  obtained.  The  ship- 
master who  "doesn't  know  where  to  find  them," 
who  permits  the  shipping  of  a  crew  of  incompe- 
tents, is  himself  an  incompetent.  No  one  had 
ever  accused  captain  Coburn  of  that. 

The  thirty  men  who  sailed  "before  the  mast" 
in  the  Agamemnon,  were  husky  and  hearty  and 
up  to  their  work;  and  all  of  them  were  Norwegians. 
There  were  those  among  them  who  needed  a 
strong  hand  over  them,  but  captain  Coburn  pos- 
sessed that  sort  of  a  hand, — two  of  them,  in  fact. 

These  men  bunked  in  the  forward-house,  a  square 
structure,  built  at  the  foot  of  the  foremast.  There 
the  captain  and  his  mates  went.    Swanson  entered. 

"Turn  out,  boys.  Some  of  the  captain's  friends 
are  in  trouble,  and  there's  going  to  be  a  fight." 

A  fight!  Would  the  Norwegians  come?  Will  a 
cat  lap  cream?    A  succession  of  heavy  thuds  were 


302  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

heard,  the  sound  of  men  springing  from  their 
bunks  to  the  deck. 

As  the  men  came  out,  they  were  lined  up  near 
the  gangway.  Lights  were  brought,  ship's  lanterns 
and  sideHghts.  What  a  picture  it  was!  Above 
them,  the  mighty  shaft  of  the  mainmast  towered 
aloft,  supported  by  its  heavy  shrouds,  its  wide 
spars  outlined  against  the  starlit  sky.  At  the 
foot  of  the  mast  the  lines  of  men,  ranged  between 
the  heavy  bulwarks,  were  half  revealed  by  the 
dim  beams  of  lanterns.  Just  roused  from  sleep, 
curious  and  expectant,  they  waited  to  hear  what 
the  captain  would  say. 

Captain  Coburn's  face  was  revealed  by  the 
volcanic  glow  of  the  big  cigar  which  he  puffed 
furiously.     Now  he  removed  the  cigar  and  spoke. 

"Boys,  we're  going  to  have  a  little  fun.  We've 
got  to  clean  out  a  little  bunch  of  sharks  and  a 
crew  of  Koreans.  We  could  handle  them  all  with 
our  bare  hands,  but  we'll  take  along  the  capstan- 
bars  and  a  few  belaying-pins.  I  expect  we'll  finish 
this  job  and  all  be  back  in  our  bunks  in  an  hour's 
time." 

Under  the  mate's  direction,  they  ran  for  the 
bars.  They  were  provided  also  with  short  lengths 
of  cord,  to  be  used  in  tieing  prisoners. 

In  amazement,  the  watchman  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  gang-plank  and  saw  the  long  line  file  down 
to  the  pier. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  he  asked  Swanson. 

"Captain's  orders.  We've  got  to  go  ashore,  but 
we'll  be  back  during  the  night." 

The  captain  marched  his  men  out  from  the  pier, 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  303 

and  formed  them  into  column  of  fours.  The  two 
mates  closed  the  rear  of  the  column.  Captain 
Coburn  was  on  his  way  to  the  scene  of  action. 
When  he  returned  to  the  Capitol,  he  would  come 
with  the  crew  of  the  Agamemnon  at  his  back. 

There  are  oaks  in  Honlulu, — Australian  silk  oaks, 
standing  prim  and  slim  and  tall  as  poplars, — and, 
being  Australian  oaks,  they  are  always  covered 
with  leaves,  and  in  the  shadow  of  their  leaves 
there  stands  an  iron  fence  of  an  intricate  pattern, 
and  that  fence  guards  the  grounds  of  the  territorial 
Capitol,  once  the  royal  palace. 

Burl  and  his  party  stood  at  the  gateway,  where 
they  waited  for  the  return  of  captain  Coburn.  All 
around  them  the  ground  was  darkened  by  the 
shadows  of  the  silk-oaks.  Outside,  the  arc-lights 
glittered  on  the  pavement  and  on  the  road,  making 
a  brilliant  background  against  which  the  barrier 
showed  in  sharpest  silhouette.  It  was  a  combination 
full  of  contrast, — the  deep  shade  of  the  trees,  the 
glare  of  the  arc-lights,  the  iron  bars  ruling  the  road 
with  their  black  pattern.  They  watched  the  picture 
in  silence. 

What  a  situation  it  was!  Coming  to  the  Capitol 
as  tourists,  bent  on  an  evening's  outing,  to  find 
themselves  plunged  into  an  intrigue  and  struggle 
which  recalled  the  methods  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
when  Montagues  and  Capulets  fought  out  their 
feuds.  Before  their  very  eyes  the  balance  was 
wavering.  They  could  not  go  without  first  seeing 
how  it  would  settle. 

All  around  them  spread  the  beauty  of  the  quiet 


304  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

night.  The  soft  breath  of  the  trade-wind  barely 
stirred  the  trees.  In  the  park  all  was  balm  and 
palms  and  the  fragrant  tropics.  Nothing  jarred  the 
serenity;  nothing  jangled.  And  yet,  within  the 
foundations  of  the  building  behind  them,  cruelty 
was  being  let  loose.  Outside  there  was  peace; 
inside,  the  barbarities  of  the  Middle  Ages  were 
being  re-enacted.    But, — this  was  Honolulu! 

On  the  mainland  such  occurrences  would  have 
seemed  to  them  amazingly  out-of-date  and  improb- 
able. But  here  in  Hawaii,  with  its  surging,  boiling 
coral  reefs  and  scarlet  flowers  and  purple  gardens, 
its  tropical  atmosphere  and  its  isolation  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  anything  seemed  possible. 

Now  they  heard  the  tramp  of  marching  men,  the 
thud  of  thick-soled  shoes,  such  as  are  worn  by 
Norwegian  seamen.  Captain  Coburn  was  coming 
with  the  crew  of  the  Agamemnon  at  his  back, 
tramping  along  the  pavement  beneath  where  the 
statue  of  an  ancient  Hawaiian  king  stretched  out 
his  arm. 

Burl  and  his  party  thought  of  the  seamen  who 
were  coming,  and  then  their  minds  turned  back  to 
the  dungeon,  the  grim,  low  vault  where  in  fancied 
security  the  villains  of  the  play  were  working 
their  will.  Would  the  men  of  the  Agamemnon  be 
able  to  reverse  the  situation?  Suppose  the  Koreans 
to  be  armed  with  cane-knives,  what  then?  Had 
Coburn  counted  on  that? 

In  truth,  Coburn  had  thought  of  that.  He  had 
thought  of  it  while  he  stood  within  the  passage, 
and  he  had  observed  that  the  Koreans  were  unarmed. 

Now   the   tourists   drew   back,    for   the   seamen 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  305 

were  entering  the  Capitol  grounds,  tramping  up 
the  avenue  and  up  the  wide  stone  steps  which  led 
to  the  western  entrance.  Lieutenant  Sherrill  waited 
there,  holding  captive  the  care-taker.  When  he 
had  seized  the  man,  it  had  become  necessary  to 
explain  the  state  of  affairs  to  the  tourists. 

Captain  Coburn  halted  his  party  in  the  hallway. 
There  he  marshalled  his  men  in  battle  array,  two 
by  two.    He  would  lead  them  direct  to  the  rescue. 

"Just  leave  this  matter  to  me,"  he  said  to 
Sherrill.  "If  you'll  guard  that  fellow,  that's  all 
I  want." 

He  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  men, 
switched  on  the  current  of  his  electric  torch,  and 
led  them  to  a  dark  stairway.  The  tourists,  who 
had  followed  the  men  into  the  building,  heard 
them  stamping  their  way  down  the  stone  steps. 

"Now,  quiet,  boys,"  the  captain  commanded, 
when  they  reached  the  lowest  level.  Their  heavy 
tread  was  subdued  to  a  slow  shuffling,  as  they 
tip-toed  toward  the  end  of  the  passage.  They 
clasped  their  fingers  with  a  firmer  grip  on  capstan- 
bars  and  belaying-pins.  A  minute  more,  and  those 
weapons  would  be  in  use,  as  the  men  would  sweep, 
with  a  rush  and  a  yell,  upon  the  Koreans. 

"Halt!"  The  captain  was  standing  before  the 
door,  but  the  door  was  shut, — shut  and  locked. 
Through  the  thick  planks  came  the  sound  of 
melancholy  howls. 

He  ran  the  bright  circle  of  his  torch  over  the 
wood.  How  tremendously  heavy  it  was !  Cautiously 
and  noiselessly  he  tested  the  fastenings.  The 
latch  gave,  but  the  door  appeared  to  be  bolted  on 


306  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  inside.  Meanwhile,  the  air  in  the  passage 
was  becoming  close  and  poisonous.  Behind  him 
he  heard  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  Norwegians, 
and  he  knew  he  could  not  hold  them  there  long. 
The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  "about  face,"  march 
to  the  open  air,  and  make  plans  for  a  siege. 

Up  to  the  open  air  they  came.  The  tourists  were 
surprised  to  see  them  return  without  a  prisoner. 
But  Coburn  explained  the  situation  in  a  word. 

"Door's  locked,"  he  said.  "We'll  have  to  burst 
in.  Here,  you!"  and  he  turned  to  the  native  care- 
taker. "What  sort  of  fastenings  have  they  on  that 
door?  Now,  tell  the  truth,  if  you  don't  want  to 
find  trouble.  Play  any  tricks,  and  we'll  take  the 
hide  off  you." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  man  was  able  to  recollect 
just  how  the  door  was  fastened.  There  were 
"heavy  bolts,  above  and  below." 

"Any  braces?" 

"No,  no  braces." 

"Then  we  can  break  in.  Boys,  put  the  capstan- 
bars  together." 

The  bars — stout  oaken  sticks,  six  feet  long,  three 
inches  in  diameter,  and  square  at  one  end — were 
arranged  side  by  side  in  a  square  bundle,  a  bundle 
which  was  bound  together  with  cords  that  had 
been  brought  to  tie  the  prospective  prisoners. 
While  his  men  worked,  the  captain  pondered  the 
situation. 

So  far,  he  told  himself,  he  had  acted  too  precip- 
itately. He  should  have  reconnoitered  the  passage 
once  more,  before  he  led  his  men  into  it.  He  had 
counted  too   strongly   on   the  situation   remaining 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  307 

unchanged.  How  he  regretted  the  loss  of  the 
opportunity  for  a  complete  surprise!  But,  after 
all,  would  it  make  much  difference  ?  The  Koreans 
and  their  employers  would  be  so  embarassed  by 
the  Japanese,  that  they  could  not  offer  much  of  a 
defense.  Still,  there  might  be  fire-arms  in  the 
party,  and  if  it  took  long  to  batter  in  the  door, 
they  might  be  able  to  put  themselves  in  a  position 
for  a  very  serious  resistance.  Well,  this  much  was 
certain,  the  assault  on  the  door  must  be  made  as 
short,  sharp  and  sudden  as  possible.  Perhaps  by 
good  luck  it  might  be  driven  off  its  hinges  at  the 
first  blow.  In  that  case  there  would  be  a  surprise. 
The  captain  directed  his  men  to  tie  the  cords 
around  the  bars  in  such  fashion  that  the  knots 
could  be  pulled  open  in  an  instant.  If  there 
should  be  a  surprise,  those  cords  would  be  needed 
on  the  moment. 

The  capstan-bars  were  ready,  tied  together  in 
a  fashion  which  met  the  approval  of  both  the 
mates.  They  were  put  into  the  hands  of  six 
men,  the  stoutest  in  the  crew,  who  were  told  what 
was  expected  of  them.  Once  more  the  party 
descended  the  stone  steps. 

Coburn,  as  soon  as  he  had  brought  his  men 
to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  stopped  them  there,  while 
he  went  in  advance.  This  time  he  would  make 
a  reconnoissance.  Perhaps  the  room  had  been 
thrown  open  in  the  meanwhile. 

No,  it  still  was  closed,  but  he  noticed  a  gleam  of 
light  which  came  through  the  great  keyhole.  He 
heard  a  muttering  of  voices  within  the  room.     He 


3dd  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

knelt  with  his  ear  to  the  opening.  Now  he  could 
hear  the  words  distinctly. 

It  was  Atten's  voice  that  came  to  the  captain. 
It  appeared  that  he  was  lecturing  someone. 

"Now,  you  poor,  paltry,  pitiful  yellow  pup,"  he 
said,  "you  see  what  you  are  going  to  get.  You'd 
kidnap  us,  would  you,  and  use  'physical  suasion?' 
I  agree  with  you,  physical  suasion's  the  thing; 
but  two  can  play  at  that  game." 

"What  a  fool  you  must  be,"  another  voice  went 
on,  "imagining  that  you,  single-handed,  could  carry 
out  such  a  program  as  yours!  You  see  where  you 
have  brought  yourself.  Yesterday  you  were 
hunted  over  the  island,  like  a  jack-rabbit  with  the 
hounds  after  him.  To-day  we  torture  you.  To- 
morrow— you  disappear." 

Another  voice — it  was  the  manager's — ^broke  in. 

"Hit  her  up  again,  boys.    Tear  'em  to  pieces." 

This  was  followed  by  a  howl  of  distress. 

"I  guess  I'll  change  the  complexion  of  this 
business,"  thought  the  captain,  and  he  tip-toed  back 
to  his  men.  Once  more  he  led  them  down  the 
passage.  He  stopped  them  a  dozen  feet  from  the 
door. 

That  door  was  a  massive  affair,  a  double  thick- 
ness of  heavy  planks,  heavily  bolted  together.  Had 
it  been  in  good  preservation,  a  long  battering 
would  have  been  necessary  before  it  yielded.  But 
it  had  not  been  built  of  native  wood.  Imported 
oak  had  been  used.  The  oak  had  succumbed  to 
dry-rot.  Though  outwardly  sound,  it  was  only 
a  shell. 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  309 

The  men  with  the  capstan-bars,  crouched  for 
a  rush. 

"Now,  boys.     All  ready.     Let  her  go." 

And  the  six  men  dashed  forward  with  their 
improvised  battering-ram.  The  door  stopped  them 
hardly  more  than  a  sheet  of  paper.  It  flew  from 
its  hinges  and  fell  in  splinters  on  the  floor.  The 
men  charged  to  the  very  center  of  the  place.  And 
on  their  heels  came  the  rest  of  the  crew,  pouring 
into   the  room,   a  living  avalanche. 

Imagine  the  scene  and  the  situation!  The  low 
vaulted  room,  with  its  close,  sultry  air,  the  group 
of  sugar-planters  made  conspicuous  by  their 
suits  of  white  duck,  the  yellow-skinned  Koreans, 
the  bronze  faces  of  the  Japanese  in  the  back- 
ground, the  door  flying  in  fragments,  the  shouts 
of  the  seamen  as  they  burst  in,  the  rush  and 
clatter  of  heavy  shoes,  the  crash  of  falling  furni- 
ture, the  wild  jabbering  and  high-pitched  screams 
of  the  Orientals,  while  all  the  time  a  fan  that 
drew  air  into  the  room  through  a  hidden  passage, 
kept  up  its  droning  hum. 

"Put  out  the  lights,"  called  the  president. 

But  the  lights — electric  torches — had  been  placed 
on  shelves  and  brackets  where  they  were  not 
easily  reached.  Before  one  of  them  could  be 
extinguished,  Coburn's  men  were  tying  up  the 
last  of  the  Koreans,  and  held  the  employers  as 
prisoners.     A  bloodless   victory  had  been   gained. 

But  had  it?  Carding  still  was  at  liberty.  In 
the  confusion,  he  had  dodged  into  a  dusky 
corner,  aff^orded  by  a  high  cabinet.  He  saw  that 
all  was  lost,  but  he  also  saw  that  neither  Crane 


310  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

nor  any  of  the  Japanese  had  been  loosed  from 
their  bonds  as  yet.  A  chair  stood  just  behind 
Crane.  Carding  sprang  forward,  gripped  the 
chair,  and  swung  it  for  Crane's  head.  The  blow 
was  a  vicious  one.  Crane  fell  like  a  log.  But 
the  mate  of  the  Agamemnon  was  as  quick  as 
Carding.  While  the  young  man  still  held  the 
chair,  and  before  he  could  raise  it  in  defense,  the 
mate  had  swung  a  capstan-bar.  Carding  fell  to 
the  floor,  by  the  side  of  Crane. 

Were  either  of  them  killed?  A  hurried  examina- 
tion decided  that,  while  both  had  been  knocked 
senseless,  neither  would  suffer  anything  worse 
than  a  severe  headache  when  he  came  to.  Two 
men  lifted  each  of  them,  to  carry  them  to  the 
open  air. 

Meanwhile,  the  Norwegians  had  found  the  key 
to  the  handcuffs  and  were  freeing  the  Japanese. 
Their  fetters  were  transferred  to  the  wrists  of  the 
Koreans.  But  how  the  seamen  stared  around  them 
in  astonishment  while  they  worked,  wondering 
at  the  outlandish  machines  with  which  the  room 
was  fitted!  Such  a  place  never  had  been  dreamt 
of  in  their  philosophy. 

The  Japanese  were  clamoring  that  the  manager 
and  officers  of  the  company  should  be  stretched 
on  the  torture  bed  and  given  a  taste  of  the  treat- 
ment they  had  been  giving  others  a  minute  before. 

"No,  no.  I'm  willing  to  rescue  you  fellows,  but 
you  must  do  your  own  fighting,"  and  Captain 
Coburn  directed  his  men  to  collect  the  electric 
torches,  cut  off  the  current  from  the  fan,  and 
bring  everyone  to  the  upper  floor. 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  311 

He  noticed  the  alert  movements  of  the  Japanese, 
who  hurried  in  advance,  a  grinning,  chattering 
troop. 

"You  fellows  don't  seem  to  be  any  the  worse 
for  wear,"  he  said. 

One  of  them  answered  with  a  broad,  yellow- 
toothed  grin, 

"Japanese  very  strong.  Them  fellow  no  know 
nothing.  Not  hurt  much.  I  make  loud  noise — 
very  bad.     Then  he  think  he  hurt  me." 

It  seemed  that,  as  torturers,  the  Koreans  had 
been  very  amateurish. 

Burl  and  his  party  were  waiting  in  the  vestibule, 
where  lieutenant  Sherrill  stood  with  his  hand  firmly 
gripped  on  the  collar  of  the  native  care-taker. 
They  heard  the  footsteps  of  the  seamen,  stumbling 
up  the  stairs.  The  men  entered  the  hall.  What 
were  they  bringing?  Two  dead  men?  So  it 
seemed,  at  first  glance,  for  Crane  and  Carding 
were  totally  unconscious;  their  faces  were  deadly 
pale. 

The  men  laid  them  on  the  floor  and  called  for 
water.  A  bucketful  was  brought  and  dashed  on 
the  faces  of  the  sleepers.  Then  they  stirred,  as 
consciousness  came  back. 

While  the  two  mates  of  the  Agamemnon  were 
administering  "first  aid  to  the  injured,"  Sherrill 
prepared  to  carry  out  his  promise  to  conduct  the 
visitors  to  the  vaults.  He  still  carried  his  electric 
torch.  It  glowed  in  his  hand.  From  the  supply 
which  had  been  seized,  four  were  selected  and 
distributed  among  the  tourists.     They  turned  the 


312  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

glare  of  the  lights  down  the  dark  staircase,  and 
prepared  to  descend.    Sherrill  led  the  way. 

Threading  their  way  through  the  passage,  they 
came  to  the  Torture  Chamber.  Many  of  the 
machines  had  been  overturned  when  the  men  of 
the  Agamemnon  had  rushed  in,  but  the  bed  where 
the  Japanese  had  been  stretched  still  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  floor,  ready  for  use,  just  as  the 
president  had  ordered  it  placed.  Now  the  party 
gathered  around  it,  flashing  their  lights  over  its 
levers  and  cords  and  heavy  beams.  The  grim 
machine,  in  that  grim  vault,  seemed  to  carry  them 
back  through  a  thousand  years  of  the  world's 
history. 

Then  came  the  thought, — who  would  believe 
their  story,  even  if  they  were  to  tell  of  the  night's 
experience?  The  situation  seemed  incredible. 
How  preposterous  was  the  idea  of  sober  and 
seemly  citizens  of  Honolulu,  dragging  their 
victims  into  the  depths  of  a  subterranean  dungeon, 
to  torture  them  with  all  the  barbarities  of  the 
Middle  Ages!  But  here  was  the  evidence  before 
their  eyes.  Undoubtedly,  Hawaiian  methods  were 
more  primitive  than  the  methods  of  the  mainland. 

They  turned  to  explore  the  apartment,  for  its 
subtle  fascination  still  held  them.  Yes,  there  were 
the  headsman's  block  and  axe,  as  Sherrill  had 
said.  Well,  such  objects  might  appeal  to  the 
whim  of  a  semi-barbaric  monarch,  but  who  would 
believe  that  men  of  the  twentieth  century  would 
be  the  first  to  put  them  to  practical  use. 

They  had  brought  the  care-taker  with  them. 
Now   Sherrill   required   him   to   restore   the   fallen 


COBURN  TO  THE  RESCUE  313 

furniture  to  its  proper  position.  The  door  was 
beyond  redemption,  but  another  remained  in  the 
outer  passage.  As  the  party  came  out,  the  man 
turned  a  ponderous  key  in  a  massive  lock.  The 
bolts  grated,  and  the  passage  leading  to  the  Torture 
Chamber  was  closed,  for  possibly  another  thirty 
years. 

"Isn't  there  a  strong  probability  that  this  man 
may  tell  of  what  has  happened  to-night?"  asked 
professor  Burl. 

"No  probability  whatever,"  answered  the 
lieutenant,  with  a  smile.  "I  made  sure  of  that,  while 
Coburn  was  bringing  his  men.  This  fellow  is 
frightened  to  death  for  fear  the  authorities  will 
learn  that  he  connived  at  the  illegal  use  of  a 
government  building." 

The  party  returned  to  the  upper  floor.  They 
left  the  building.  For  the  last  time  that  night 
they  stood  in  the  western  gateway  to  the  Capitol 
grounds.  Like  Lot's  wife,  they  turned  for  a 
final  look. 

They  caught  a  shadowy  glimpse  of  the  men  of 
the  Agamemnon  leading  their  prisoners  to  a 
remote  corner  of  the  palace  park,  where  stood  a 
group  of  gigantic  banyan  trees.  Beneath  those 
trees,  within  their  deep  shade,  the  prisoners  would 
be  guarded  till  the  small  hours,  when  they  might 
be  marched  back  to  Manoa  valley  without  attract- 
ing attention.  One  by  one  the  lights  in  the 
building  winked  out.  Presently  the  grounds  lay 
dark  beneath  the  starlight,  their  obscurity  only 
made  greater  by  the  glare  of  the  electric  arcs 
outside.     Burl   and   his   party   started   to  walk   to 


314  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

their  hotel.  So  far  as  they  were  concerned,  the 
evening's  adventure  was  at  an  end.  But  the 
professor  only  voiced  the  sentiments  of  the  others 
when   he   said, 

"I  imagine  that  when  Mr.  Crane  comes  to 
settle  accounts  with  his  would-be  torturers,  there 
will  be  interesting  developments." 


XXIII 

BENEATH    THE    BREADFRUIT 

IN  MANOA  valley  once  more,  and  sheltered 
behind  the  triple  hedge  of  cocoa-palms.  In 
the  president's  garden  honey-yellow  tulips, 
growing  in  beds  of  honey-yellow  pansies,  were 
shaded  by  yellow  roses  trained  over  a  trellis.  The 
roses  were  shaded  in  turn  by  banana-palms  and 
poplars,  and  all  the  while  the  ear  was  soothed  with 
the  rippling  of  a  little  stream  bringing  water  to 
the  flowers  and  trees.  Across  the  poppy-beds  and 
on  the  branches  above,  the  saucy  mynah-birds 
were  dancing.  Their  black  plumage  and  their 
white-banded  wings  flashed  as  they  darted  out 
from  the  shadows  into  the  sunshine.  The  cooing 
of  a  dove  blended  with  the  splashing  of  a  foun- 
tain— a  fountain  where  above  the  marble  basin,  a 
breadfruit  tree  bent  its  great  green  leaves  and 
heavy  fruit.  The  leaves  were  enormous  and  their 
shade  was  very  grateful.  By  the  side  of  the  tree 
there  stood  a  stone  bench,  deeply  cushioned,  and 
on  those  cushions  the   Californian  was  resting. 

Monarch  of  all  he  surveyed,  he  luxuriated  in 
the  warmth  and  the  peace  and  the  fruitfulness 
which  surrounded  him.  At  that  moment  it 
pleased  him  to  survey  the  five  villains  of  this 
island  drama,  who  were  obviously  at  a  low  ebb 
in  their  fluctuating  fortunes. 


316  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

Armed  with  heavy  two-pronged  hoes,  and  driven 
by  the  Japanese,  they  were  cultivating  the  garden, 
striving  to  maintain  its  immaculate  order.  Kept 
strictly  to  their  work,  perspiration  was  pouring 
down  their  faces  and  streaking  their  white  duck 
suits.  The  dirty  and  toil-worn  appearance  of 
their  clothing  showed  that  they  must  have  been 
kept  at  their  present  uncongenial  occupation  for 
some  days. 

Crane  placed  a  fresh  piece  of  ice  within  the 
bandage  which  circled  his  forehead,  for  he  still 
suffered  from  Carding's  blow.  In  fact,  he  had 
barely  escaped  brain-fever.  Then  he  called  to 
Wanto, 

"Keep  them  moving,  Wanto.  Remember  the 
night  in  that  palace." 

Wanto  grinned.  A  few  whacks  of  the  bamboos 
followed.  The  heavy  hoes  rose  and  fell  with 
increased  energy. 

Now  the  ice  was  melting,  and  the  throbbing  in 
the  Californian*s  head  subsided.  He  needed  that 
head  just  now,  for  he  must  plan  what  to  do  with 
the  prisoners.  He  must  decide  on  a  way  out  of  the 
present  situation.  And  the  plan  must  be  some- 
thing rare  and  bizarre — something  to  match  the 
country — something  with  a  Honolulu  tone.  Would 
it  not  be  well  to  consult  with  the  Japanese? 
Wanto  was  a  practical  man.  Well,  he'd  think 
it  over. 

For  the  next  few  minutes  he  studied  Wanto. 
What  a  faithful  fellow  he  was!  Crane  thought 
of  the  day  before,  when  it  had  become  necessary 
to    take    Charley    Deane    down    into    Honolulu's 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT         317 

commercial  quarter,  where  the  transfer  of  shares 
might  be  ratified  and  recorded.  The  problem  had 
arisen,  how  to  prevent  Deane  from  calling  for 
help  and  explaining  the  situation,  as  soon  as  he 
should  find  himself  among  friends.  The  Japanese 
had  solved  the  problem  by  volunteering  as  guard. 
With  a  cane-knife  concealed  beneath  his  coat, 
Wanto  would  walk,  a  thunder-cloud  in  bronze,  by 
the  side  of  the  treasurer.  No  danger  of  Deane's 
becoming  rebellious,  so  long  as  the  "yellow  peril" 
gripped  him. 

Crane  had  argued  with  the  Japanese  that  he 
might  lose  his  life  in  the  venture.  "And  you  love 
life,  Wanto,  as  well  as  any  of  us,"  he  had  said. 

"What  of  that?"  Wanto  had  answered.  "Is  it 
not  far  nobler  to  die  a  hero,  bravely  fighting  in 
defense  of  my  rights,  than  to  crawl  to  a  dishonor- 
able end?" 

Crane  had  smiled,  but  the  answer  had  reminded 
him  of  Byron's  pirates,  who  sang, 

"Let  him  who  crawls  enamored  of  decay. 

Cling  to  his  couch  and  sicken  years  away; 

Heave  his  thick  breath  and  shake  his  palsied  head; 

Ours  the  fresh  turf,  and  not  the  feverish  bed. 

While  gasp  by  gasp  he  falters  forth  his  soul, 

Ours  with  one  pang — one  bound — escapes  control." 

It  was  true  that  Byron's  pirates  were  free- 
booters, but  they  had  been  driven  to  it  by  the 
world's  injustice.  Was  not  their  leader  a  man 
whose  "heart  was  formed  for  softness,  warped 
to  wrong?"  It  struck  him  that  there  was  a  strong 
analogy  between  those  wild  adventurers  and  these 


318  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Japanese.  But  he  wondered  whether  Wanto's 
attitude  had  been  inspired  by  faithfulness  or  by  a 
native  bloodthirsty  disposition  and  a  dislike  for 
the  treasurer.     More  likely  the  latter. 

Well,  whatever  his  motives,  Wanto  had  played 
his  part  most  manfully.  Nor  had  he  neglected 
appearances.  He  had  begun  by  costuming  him- 
self for  the  occasion.  Discarding  his  "business 
suit," — the  costume  of  the  cane-fields, — he  had 
appeared  in  one  of  the  president's  blue  serge  suits, 
which  he  had  appropriated.  The  president's 
Panama  hat  had  covered  Wanto's  black  hair.  One 
of  the  president's  perfectos  rested  between  his  lips. 
In  his  fingers  he  twirled  a  light  bamboo  cane. 

Thus  arrayed,  he  was  scarcely  recognizable. 
But  Deane  knew  that,  all  the  while,  a  heavy  cane- 
knife  lay  concealed  beneath  that  negligee  shirt. 
He  knew  why  the  fingers  of  Wanto's  right  hand 
were  tucked  between  the  buttons. 

However,  Crane  had  felt  no  serious  concern  as 
to  the  outcome  of  the  day.  He  had  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  estimate  the  treasurer.  There  was  no 
danger  of  Deane's  chancing  an  encounter  with  a 
cane-knife.  Had  Frank  Atten  been  in  Deane's 
place,  the  case  would  have  been  quite  different. 
But  the  treasurer  would  prefer  to  play  a  waiting 
game.  Wanto's  mere  presence  was  sufficient  to 
render  him  perfectly  tractable. 

So  they  had  gone  from  office  to  office  and  from 
bank  to  bank,  where  Crane  had  been  made 
acquainted  with  the  business-world  of  Honolulu. 
The  news  of  the  transfer  of  shares  had  been  sown 
broadcast.     The  former  officers  and  manager  had 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT    319 

relinquished  their  holdings  and  resigned  their 
positions,  all  "for  value  received."  A  new  set  of 
officers  would  be  chosen  forthwith.  Undoubtedly 
the  Californian  would  be  the  new  president. 

"Have  you  given  up  your  cruise  in  Pearl  Harbor, 
Mr.  Deane?"  one  of  the  members  of  the  Cosmos 
Club  had  inquired. 

"Oh,  I'm  only  in  town  for  the  day,"  the  treasurer 
had  answered.  "Don't  be  surprised  if  you  don't 
see  me  again  for  three  weeks  or  more." 

Right  here  the  question  might  arise  as  to  why 
the  failure  of  the  party  to  board  the  yacht  never 
had  been  noticed.  The  boat,  by  Deane's  direction, 
had  been  anchored  in  one  of  the  inlets  of  Pearl 
Harbor,  where  it  was  to  await  the  arrival  of  him- 
self and  party,  who  would  come  directly  on 
board  on  the  night  of  their  departure  from  the 
Cosmos  Club.  The  Chinese  crew  had  obeyed  their 
orders  literally.  Their  orders  were  to  "wait,"  and 
they  waited.  They  waited  three  weeks,  until  their 
supply  of  rice  gave  out.  When  cross-examined, 
all  that  could  be  gotten  from  them  was,  "Boss, 
him  say  boat  wait  here — by  and  by  him  clum 
back.     We  wait." 

Wanto,  still  wearing  the  president's  clothing 
and  smoking  one  of  the  president's  perfectos,  was 
swaggering  about  the  garden.  Some  of  his  com- 
rades were  walking  with  him,  twirling  the  bamboos 
with  which  they  inspired  to  activity  "the  men  with 
the  hoes."  Others  were  resting  on  the  lawn,  to 
which  they  had  dragged  the  costly  rugs  that  had 
covered  the  floor  of  the  reception-hall.  Magnificent 
pelts  of  polar  bear  and  tiger  lay  on  the  grass,  and 


320  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

on  those  pelts  the  Japanese  were  lounging,  their 
heads  pillowed  on  those  of  the  animals. 

Meanwhile,  Crane  continued  to  speculate  as  to 
what  might  be  done  with  the  prisoners.  The 
president  was  working  within  ten  feet  of  the 
marble  bench.  The  Californian  watched  him  in 
amusement  for  a  moment.     Then  he  said, 

"Well,  old  man,  now  is  an  appropriate  time  for 
you  to  do  some  philosophising — philosophising  on 
the  dignity  of  labor.  Don't  you  find  that  a  flow 
of  perspiration  promotes  a  flow  of  thought?  Oh, 
no,  you  needn't  stop  and  straighten  up  your  back. 
Keep  right  on,  or  you'll  feel  the  bamboo.  The 
*yellow-perir   is   right  behind  you." 

But  the  Californian  was  tender-hearted.  A 
moment  later  he  invited  the  president  to  a  seat 
beside  him. 

The  old  man  dropped  his  hoe  and  hurried  across 
the  ground  to  the  shade  of  the  breadfruit  tree. 
He  sank  into  the  opposite  corner  of  the  bench. 
His  chest  was  heaving,  his  face  was  flushed.  He 
mopped  the  streaming  perspiration. 

"My  God,"  he  groaned,  and  then  again,  "My 
God!" 

"Here,  drink  this,"  and  Crane  gave  him  a  glass 
of  lemonade  in  which  the  ice  floated  and  tinkled, — 
although  he  knew  perfectly  that  half  of  "Foxy 
Grandpa's"  distress  was  assumed  for  effect. 

The  president  grasped  the  glass  with  trembling 
fingers  and  gulped  its  contents  in  great  draughts. 
Then  he  brightened  perceptibly.  The  cool  drink 
had  refreshed  him. 

"I  suppose  you  think  yourself  quite  a  martyr," 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT    321 

said  Crane;  "driven  to  toil  beneath  the  sultry  sun 
of  a  tropical  day.  And  yet  the  light  work  you 
have  been  doing  is  nothing  in  comparison  with 
that  done  by  the  laborers  in  the  cane-fields, 
harvesting  the   sugar." 

Miserable  as  he  was,  the  president  could  not 
keep  from  answering  with  an  argument. 

"TheyVe  Orientals,"  he  argued.  "The  work 
doesn't  affect  them.  But  it  is  no  sort  of  work  for 
a  white  man." 

"Oh,  Orientals  are  made  of  different  stuff  from 
white  men,  are  they?  That  argument  has  been 
exploded  too  many  times.  Don't  you  know  that 
in  Queensland  all  of  the  work  of  the  cane-fields 
is  done  by  whites?  Pshaw!  it  is  a  mere  matter 
of  being  accustomed  to  the  work.  Men  of  any 
nationality  can  accustom  themselves  to  it,  if  they 
will." 

"Well,  it's  torture  to  me." 

"Torture!  That  sounds  well,  coming  from  you! 
I  should  have  imagined  you  would  avoid  that 
topic.  Have  you  forgotten  the  night  in  the  palace? 
I  haven't.  The  idea  of  four  sober  and  seemly 
citizens  of  Honolulu,  dragging  their  victims  to 
the  depths  of  a  subterranean  dungeon,  there  to 
inflict  atrocious  tortures!  Were  I  to  tell  that 
story  in  California,  it  would  not  be  believed." 

"You  may  never  return  to  California  to  tell  it." 

"You  think  I'm  not  yet  out  of  the  woods." 

"I  believe  so." 

"That's   as   luck   may   turn.     But   I   believe   the 

gods  help  those ,  you  know.     My  philosophy  of 

life  is  to  help  myself.     I  either  get  what  belongs 


322  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

to  me,  or  I  lose  my  life.  I  say  with  Shakespeare's 
Clifford, 

*I  will  not  bandy  you  with  word  for  word. 

But  buckle  with  you  blows,  twice  two  for  one.' " 

"What  if  you  lose  your  life?  You  came  very 
near  it." 

"Then  all  my  troubles  are  over,  so  far  as  this 
world  is  concerned.  I'll  take  my  chance  as  regards 
the  next." 

Crane  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  con- 
tinued, 

"There's  another  reason  why  I  may  never 
return  to  California.  I  may  settle  in  Hawaii." 

"A  sultry  tropical  climate  is  intensely  disagree- 
able to  many." 

"It  doesn't  affect  me.  Quite  the  reverse.  I'm 
fairly  fascinated  by  this  country,"  and  the  Cali- 
fomian  let  his  mind  ramble  for  a  minute  while 
he  recalled  a  bit  of  parody  which  he  had  written 
one  afternoon,  when  on  his  excursion  to  the  cane- 
fields  of  the  west  coast. 

I  want  the  islands,  I  want  the  sea, 

I  dream  of  the  tropics  and  reefs  of  coral, 

The  woods  of  koa  and  camphor  and  laurel. 

Where  perfumes  are  borne  on  the  trade-wind's  wings, 

As  it  sighs  and  surges  and  sweeps  and  sings; 

The  feathery  palms  and  the  cane-fields  wide, 

The  dark  green  hills  and  the  roaring  tide, 

And  Honolulu. 

He  remembered  how  he  had  shown  the  lines 
to  Carding,  who  had  suggested  that  he  rhyme  the 
line  ending  in  "coral"  with,  "Where  the  natives  are 
dusky  and  not  very  moral."    It  all  passed  through 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT         323 

his  mind  like  a  flash,  and  then  the  memory 
reminded  him  of  the  reason  why  he  had  explored 
the  island, — to  find  a  place  where  the  prisoners 
might  be  held  safely. 

The  problem  was  still  unsolved.  Any  day,  their 
presence  in  this  spot  might  be  discovered.  He 
might  march  them  to  the  hills,  but  after  his 
experience  at  the  bungalow,  he  had  his  doubts  as 
to  whether  there  was  a  place  sufficiently  secluded 
for  his  purpose  in  all  the  island.  But — ah! — 
"California"  suggested  an  idea;  might  it  not  be 
possible  to  transport  them  to  the  mainland? 
California  is  as  large  as  Oahu  is  small;  plenty  of 
places  in  California  where  they  might  be  hidden 
and  held.  He  would  consult  with  Wanto.  He 
called  the  Japanese. 

Wanto  came,  stepping  gingerly  across  the  pansy 
beds,  to  take  a  seat  on  the  marble  bench  by  the 
side  of  Crane. 

"Well,  Wanto,"  the  Californian  began,  "IVe 
been  thinking  it  over.  WeVe  got  to  decide 
immediately  what  to  do  with  these  men.  Here  we 
have  quite  a  band  of  prisoners  on  our  hands — 
five  white  men,  twenty  Koreans,  and  one 
Hawaiian,  the  keeper  of  the  dogs.  We  can't  keep 
them  here  much  longer." 

Wanto  was  grinning  broadly,  but  it  was  because 
his  mind  was  wandering  from  the  main  subject. 
Crane's  reference  to  the  dogs  had  recalled  a 
memory  to  his  mind — a  memory  of  a  feast  which 
he  and  his  comrades  had  enjoyed  on  the  day  after 
the  night  in  the  palace.  The  dogs  had  been 
barbecued  in  the  most  approved  fashion,  a  fashion 


324  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

the  Japanese  had  learned  from  the  natives.  They 
looked  back  on  the  occasion  as  a  red-letter  day 
in  their  lives. 

"These  men,"  Crane  continued,  "are  cunning 
and  unscrupulous,  and  they  were  well  intrenched. 
So  far,  we  have  captured  their  intrenchments. 
Now  my  plan  is  to  hold  them  for  a  year,  while  I 
am  fortifying  myself  where  they  stood.  At  the 
end  of  the  year  they'll  be  so  delighted  at  the  idea 
of  getting  their  liberty,  they'll  be  willing  to  agree 
to  almost  anything  if  we  will  only  let  them  go. 
And  if  they  do  try  to  make  any  trouble,  their 
day  for  accomplishing  anything  will  have  passed. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  I  don't  see  any 
safe  way  to  hold  them  in  this  island.  But,  if  we 
could  get  them  to  California,  I  am  sure  we  could 
hold  them  there  as  long  as  we  please.  But  we 
can't  march  them  down  to  the  wharf  and  engage 
passage  for  them  in  the  steamship  "Nevada." 
Now,  can  you  suggest  a  plan  by  which  we  might 
get  them  to  the  mainland?" 

"Japanese  fishing-boat,"  Wanto  answered.  "A 
big  fishing-boat." 

"I  don't  know,"  Crane  demurred.  "You  remem- 
ber that  gale  we  had  about  a  week  ago.  After 
the  gale,  five  Japanese  fishing-boats  failed  to  come 
back." 

"Yes,  but  they  were  small,  two-men  boats.  The 
big  boats  came  in.  They  can  weather  anything. 
And  we'll  need  a  big  boat,  to  carry  such  a  party 
as  ours — twenty-six  prisoners  and  fifteen  Japanese, 
forty-one  men  in  all." 

"And  there  will  be  the  crew  besides." 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT    325 

"Oh,  I  and  my  men  can  act  as  crew.  Some  of 
us  are  old  fishermen." 

"Then  make  arrangements  to  purchase  a  boat 
to-day." 

Events  were  shaping  out  better  than  the 
Californian  would  have  imagined. 

"Good  enough,"  he  continued.  "The  business 
ought  to  be  easily  managed.  I  can  travel  by 
steamer  and  arrange  in  California  for  your  landing. 
But  after  you  have  landed " 

"Why,  when  we  get  to  California,"  Wanto 
answered,  "we  can  go  to  my  brother's  farm.  He 
has  a  big  place  and  he  needs  workmen.  We 
could  march  our  prisoners  across  country  to  his 
home.  There  we  could  hold  them  for  a  year 
and  make  them  earn  their  keep.  There  would  be 
no  danger  of  their  being  discovered,  for  Japanese 
farmers  are  not  popular  in  California.  No  Amer- 
icans would  intrude  on  his  place.  It  would  be  as 
secluded  as  if  it  were  a  corner  of  Old  Japan." 

"Better  and  better,"  Crane  replied;  "I  know 
something  about  Japanese  potato-farms,"  and  he 
closed  his  eyes  while  he  speculated  on  the  details 
of  the  enterprise. 

Before  his  mind's  eye  there  stretched  a  flat  and 
featureless  landscape,  the  central  valley  of  Cali- 
fornia. He  saw  the  black,  fertile  earth,  cultivated 
into  the  mile-long  ridges  and  furrows  of  a  potato- 
farm,  the  ridges  covered  with  the  green  vines. 
And  in  those  fields  he  could  see  a  group  of 
swarthy  Oriental  laborers,  among  whom  were 
herded  the  president  and  his  associates,  dressed 
in  cheap  blue  cotton  and  covered  with  immense 


326  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

mushroom  hats.  There  they  toiled,  armed  with 
heavy  two-pronged  hoes  and  driven  to  work  by 
the  rest  of  the  gang,  with  whom  they  were 
compelled  to  keep  pace.  Slaves  on  a  Japanese 
potato-farm!  The  idea  was  ridiculous — and  tragic, 
too. 

But  the  program  impressed  Wanto  as  altogether 
too  merciful. 

"Why  take  all  this  trouble?"  he  asked.  "Why 
not  give  them  Happy  Despatch,  and  be  done  with 
them?" 

"Wanto,  you're  only  half  civilized,"  Crane 
answered,  "To  murder  men  is  a  crime.  But  to 
deprive  them  of  what  doesn't  belong  to  them,  and 
to  humanize  them,  that's  different.  That's  justice 
and  benevolence." 

Why,  on  second  thought,  a  year  of  hard  work 
would  probably  leave  them  fit  as  football  players. 
They'd  be  all  the  better  for  it,  in  every  way.  And 
— another  point — if,  after  their  release,  they  were 
to  tell  the  truth  about  their  experience  and  try 
to  enlist  sympathy,  they  would  only  render  them- 
selves objects  of  ridicule.  Slaves  on  a  potato-farm 
for  a  year!  How  Honolulu  would  roar  with 
laughter,  for  we  have  already  intimated  that  the 
officers  and  manager  of  the  X  Sugar  Company 
were  not  popular.  Their  methods  were  considered 
obsolete. 

The  president  had  listened  with  a  studied  air 
of  stony  resignation  to  the  cool  discussion  of  his 
fate.  Crane  watched  him  with  amusement.  Mentally 
he  contrasted  the  president's  former  state  with 
that     which     was     coming.       No     longer     would 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT    327 

he  be  king  of  the  Cosmos  Club,  where  he 
might  philosophise  at  his  leisure  and  say  the 
latest  word  on  contemporary  literature.  No 
longer  would  he  discuss  poetry  and  popular  novels 
within  the  club's  cool,  shaded  precincts;  at  least, 
not  until  a  year  had  passed.  A  slave  on  a  potato- 
farm,  herded  in  a  bunk-house,  toiling  all  day 
beneath  a  sun  which  sent  the  mercury  above  the 
hundred  mark,  how  his  memory  would  turn  back 
to  Honolulu,  where  he  had  been  carried  in  his 
limousine  from  his  Manoa  valley  home  to  his  club, 
or  to  the  beach  at  Waikiki  *'where  the  surf  rolls 
in!" 

And  there  was  Charley  Deane.  How  he  would 
recall  the  hours  he  had  spent  loitering  on  the 
pier  of  the  Hawaiian  Yacht  Club,  idly  watching 
the  ripple  of  the  trade-wind  on  the  water  blurring 
the  reflection  of  the  cloud-flecked  blue  of  the  sky, 
or  letting  his  gaze  wander  to  steep  volcanic 
heights  where  they  rose  in  the  distance,  clothed 
with  all  their  exuberance  of  tropical  verdure,  and 
capped  with  clouds  where  rainbows  played! 

So  it  would  be  with  the  rest  of  them — they 
must  give  up  their  clubs  and  yachts  and  limousines 
and  luxurious  homes,  and  come  down  to  "the 
simple  life."  But  would  their  condition  be  any 
worse  than  that  of  a  man  in  war-time,  compelled  to 
serve  in  the  trenches?  On  the  contrary,  it  would 
be  a  thousand  times  better. 

"You  see,  Mr.  President,"  he  said,  "your  argu- 
ment that  farming  is  no  sort  or  kind 
of  work  for  a  white  man,  is  coming 
back    like    a    boomerang    to    you.     We'll    make 


328  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

farmers  out  of  you  and  your  associates.  You'll 
have  a  chance  to  try,  for  a  year  at  least,  what  you 
relegate  to  Orientals.  Perhaps  the  experience  will 
humanize  you. 

"And  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  escaping 
easily  enough.  You  must  have  expected,  after 
that  night  in  the  Capitol,  that  we  would  fairly 
skin  you  alive.  I'll  admit  the  boys  did  get  a 
little  rough  with  the  Koreans.  But  there  was  a 
great  teacher  once,  who  said,  *Do  good  to  those 
who  persecute  you,'  and  that  is  precisely  what  I 
propose  to  do.  However,,  I  do  not  intend  to 
interpret  that  commandment  in  a  spirit  of  namby- 
pamby  mawkishness,  for  I  don't  believe  that  the 
man  who  took  a  whip  of  knotted  cords  and  drove 
the  money-changers  from  the  temple,  meant  it 
in  any  such  a  spirit.  I  propose  to  do  good  to 
you  by  making  good  men  out  of  you.  I've  decided 
to  reform  you,  to  humanize  you,  or  at  least  to 
make  an  attempt  in  that  direction." 

And  summoning  the  rest  of  the  prisoners.  Crane 
explained  his  plan — the  year  of  captivity  while  he 
should  be  engaged  in  fortifying  himself  in  their 
intrenchments ;  a  year  which  they  would  spend  in 
California  as  workmen  on  a  Japanese  farm.  The 
first  feature  on  the  program  would  be  their  ship- 
ment to  California  by  Japanese  fishing-boat. 

"You  will  hardly  find  the  quarters  in  that  boat 
as  commodious  as  those  in  the  Cosmos  Club,"  he 
said.  "But  you'll  have  an  opportunity  to  acquire 
a  new  outlook  on  life.  And,  so  long  as  the  voyage 
lasts,  you'll  have  plenty  of  leisure — plenty  of  time 
on  your  hands,  an  opportunity  to  recuperate  for 


BENEATH  THE  BREADFRUIT  329 

what  is  coming.  Such  a  voyage  should  furnish 
you  a  rich  fund  of  impressions,  Mr.  President,  to 
use  later  in  literary  work.  Why,  you  may  even 
have  a  chance  to  perch  yourself  on  the  gunwale, 
note-book  in  hand,  and  write  reviews  of  popular 
novels, — Jack  London's,  for  instance.'* 

Then  for  a  minute  the  president  and  the 
Calif ornian  sat  in  silence,  while  they  reflected. 
The  same  picture  limned  itself  in  the  mind  of 
each;  a  broad,  blunt  fishing-boat,  of  Oriental 
pattern,  manned  by  a  crew  of  swarthy  Japanese. 
Driven  by  its  clumsy  square  sail,  it  bobbed  and 
dipped  on  the  bright  blue  waves.  And  in  the 
boat  were  the  five  "malefactors."  And  there  were 
the  twenty  Koreans,  their  pale  yellow  faces  made 
paler  yet  by  seasickness.  Japanese,  Koreans  and 
whites,  all  were  huddled  together,  a  strange  crew 
in  a  strange  boat,  voyaging  across  the  broad  spaces 
of  the  Pacific  ocean,  beneath  a  wide  blue  sky  where 
rode  the  scattered  trade-wind  clouds  like  puffs 
of  smoke. 

To  the  president  that  picture  seemed  an  appalling 
thing,  a  companion-piece  to  a  celebrated  painting 
he  remembered — a  painting  of  "The  Boat  of  Don 
Juan." 


XXIV 

KOKO    HEAD 

THE  golden  rays  of  the  sun  were  flashing 
between  vermilion  clouds,  as  Crane  watched 
the  sunset  from  the  end  of  a  pier  which 
projected  into  Honolulu  harbor.  Beyond  the  reef 
and  over  an  ocean  that  stretched  to  China  and 
Japan  his  eye  had  clear  sweep.  The  setting  sun 
had  painted  the  evening  sky  a  blaze  of  scarlet  and 
gold,  below  which  the  sea  lay  blue  and  green. 
Like  a  massive  disk  of  molten  gold,  the  sun  hung 
where  its  edge  almost  touched  the  horizon; 
the  sky  around  it  was  as  yellow  as  a  California 
poppy.  Then  the  great  glowing  disk  slowly  dissolved 
in  the  ocean,  when  the  colors  disappeared  with 
miraculous  suddenness,  the  low  clouds  turning 
an  ashen  gray.  Tropical  sunsets  are  transient 
affairs;  their  colors  fade  as  quickly  as  they  come. 
But  Crane  was  there  with  another  object  than 
to  view  the  sunset.  He  had  come  to  consult 
with  Captain  Coburn ;  but  the  captain  was  detained 
at  the  Agamemnon's  gangplank,  and  the  Californ- 
ian  must  wait.  He  lingered  in  a  meditative  mood, 
for  everything  was  conducive  to  meditation.  The 
harbor  was  very  quiet  .  The  day's  work  was  done. 
The  rumble  of  machinery,  the  fussing  of  tow- 
boats,  the  screaming  of  steam-whistles,  had  died 
away. 


KOKO  HEAD  331 

He  watched  the  ripple  of  the  trade-wind  on  the 
water.  As  he  watched  it,  it  led  him  to  think 
how  essential  water  is  to  life.  He  remembered 
that  water  constitutes  about  eighty  per  cent  of  a 
man's  weight,  and  that  led  him  to  think  of 
About's  "Man  with  the  Broken  Ear,"  who  was 
taken  while  in  a  trance,  dried  in  an  oven,  and 
then  filed  away  for  future  reference,  to  be  put 
in  the  bath-tub  fifty  years  later  and  resuscitated 
as  good  as  new. 

But  it  occurred  to  Crane  that  the  water  of  the 
ocean  is  salt,  and  therefore  unsuitable  to  support 
human  life;  and  yet,  he  thought,  salt  is  a  part 
of  our  food.  In  other  words,  a  little  salt  is  good, 
too  much  of  it  is  poison.  This  led  him  to  think 
of  running  water  as  a  source  of  power,  turning 
the  wheels  of  mills,  or  spinning  turbines  far  up 
in  the  mountains,  whence  the  power  is  transmitted 
by  electric  wires  from  mountains  to  metropolis. 
And  in  his  mind  he  turned  back  to  California, 
remembering  those  long  lines  of  grim,  black 
skeleton  towers  which  march  across  the  country 
to  carry  electric  power  from  far  streams,  high  in 
the  Sierras,  to  the  communities  on  the  shores  of 
San  Francisco  bay. 

"Are  you  dreaming  of  California?" 

"I  was  doing  that  very  thing,"  and  Crane 
turned  to  see  captain  Coburn  standing  behind  him. 
"California  is  a  burning  question  with  me,  just 
at  present.  We  have  decided  that  our  only 
course  is  to  transfer  our  prisoners  to  the  Pacific 
coast,   and   the   problem   is.   How   to   do   it?     At 


332  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

present  it  seems  as  though  we  must  charter  a 
Japanese  fishing-boat." 

From  this  the  captain  concluded  that  Crane 
was  not  aware  of  the  latest  developments  in  regard 
to  the  Agamemnon.  While  the  Califomian  had 
been  living  in  Manoa  valley,  things  had  been 
happening  in  Honolulu  harbor.  (Pardon  me. 
Perhaps  I  should  say,  "Events  had  been  transpir- 
ing.") The  steamship  Matsonia  had  been  in  a 
collision  with  a  "ram-you-damn-you  liner  with  a 
brace  of  bucking  screws."  (Pardon  again.)  The 
Matsonia  was  now  in  the  hands  of  the  Honolulu 
Iron  Works  for  repairs,  and  the  sugar  which  the 
Matsonia  was  to  have  carried  to  the  mainland, 
lay  waiting.  The  Agamemnon  had  been  chartered 
in  a  hurry  to  carry  the  cargo.  Consequently,  on 
this  trip,  the  Agamemnon  would  sail  to  San 
Francisco  instead  of  to  New  York. 

Captain  Coburn  conveyed  this  information  in  a 
few  terse  sentences. 

"We're  bound  to  San  Francisco,  this  voyage," 
he  concluded.  "There  we  load  barley  for  Liver- 
pool." 

Obviously  the  captain  thought  no  more  of  two 
thousand  miles  to  the  Pacific  coast,  and  of 
eighteen  thousand  miles  around  Cape  Horn,  than 
he  did  of  eating  a  dish  of  Hawaiian  pineapple. 

Then,  as  became  a  man  of  few  words  and  quick 
action,  he  pointed  out  the  possibility  of  the 
prisoners  being  shipped  by  the  Agamemnon. 

"Good  word,  captain,"  Crane  exulted.  "This 
will  make  another  time  you  have  come  to  the 
rescue.     But  how  will  we  manage  it?     We  can't 


KOKO  HEAD  333 

march  them  down  to  Borneo  pier  and  put  them 
on  board." 

"Just  load  them  into  your  Japanese  fishing- 
boat,  and  have  the  boat  off  Diamond  Head  when 
we  pass  the  point,  outward  bound.  We'll  pick 
them  up." 

Diamond  Head!  Crane  had  been  under  the 
impression  that  sailing-ships,  bound  from  Honolulu 
to  the  mainland,  ran  to  leeward  and  circled  the 
western  coast  of  the  island.  Would  the  captain 
explain? 

"Most  of  them  do,"  he  admitted.  "But  the 
Agamemnon  will  steer  for  Diamond  Head  and 
buck  through  the  channel,  short  tacks  to  wind- 
ward." 

"But,  when  you  get  to  California,  how  about 
landing  them?  You  will  not  be  able  to  take 
them  to  the  wharf  at  San  Francisco." 

"We'll  not  take  them  into  the  harbor.  We'll 
let  them  go  ashore  at  Drake's  bay." 

"But  that  will  delay  the  ship." 

"About  five  minutes.  We'll  let  them  use  the 
quarter-boats.  It  will  delay  us  no  longer  than  it 
takes  us  to  lower  the  boats." 

"But  suppose  a  gale  of  wind  is  blowing.  Now 
is  the  season  for  northwesters." 

"The  Agamemnon's  boats  are  life-boats,  non- 
capsizable  and  fitted  with  air-chambers." 

Crane  regarded  the  captain  with  increasing 
respect.  It  appeared  that  that  resourceful  seaman 
was  equal  to  any  emergency. 

"If  he  had  managed  this  affair  of  mine,"  thought 
Crane,    "there    would    not    have    been    so    many 


334  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

mistakes  made."  And  then  there  recurred  to  him 
a  question  which  had  already  arisen  in  his  mind 
many  times, — why  did  captain  Coburn  take  so 
strong  an  interest  in  this  affair?  Why  was  he 
always  ready  to  lend  a  helping  hand? 

"Pardon  my  curiosity,  captain,"  said  Crane. 
"While  I'm  tremendously  thankful  for  your  help, 
I  can't  help  wondering  why  it  is  that  you  are 
always  ready  to  help  me." 

"I  guess  you've  forgotten  a  remark  I  made 
when  first  I  met  you  on  the  hill.  I  said  that  you 
and  I  have  a  common  ground  of  complaint 
against  certain  parties.  I'm  one  of  the  minority 
stockholders." 

"You  are?  Then  what  a  fool  I  was  not  to  know 
it!!" 

"Oh,  we're  all  guilty  of  oversights.  Yes,  I  put 
a  thousand  dollars  into  their  stock,  and  I  want 
to  get  something  out  of  it;  something  more  than 
a  chance  to  sell  out  at  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar. 
However,  that  isn't  the  only  reason  I'm  behind 
you.  Your  methods  struck  my  fancy,  and  I  believe 
I  said  as  much.  And  when  I  undertake  to  help 
anyone,  I  go  my  whole  length." 

"And  I  assure  you  that  I  appreciate  it,  captain. 
But,  pardon  me  another  question.  How  did  it 
happen  that  you  came  to  be  in  the  Capitol  that 
night  when  you  rescued  me?" 

"I  was  looking  for  you." 

"Looking  for  me !" 

"Yes.  I  was  in  the  city  that  morning,  on  ship's 
business.  In  fact,  I've  spent  very  little  time  in 
the  bungalow.     I  thought  I  was  going  to  get  a 


KOKO  HEAD  335 

vacation,  but  it  hasn't  turned  out  that  way.  Well, 
as  I  said,  I  was  here  on  ship's  business,  and  I 
heard  that  the  manager  of  the  X  plantation  had 
been  pursuing  someone  over  the  hills,  the  day 
before.  They  said  he  was  using  the  wolf-hounds. 
That  told  me  all  I  needed  to  know,  and  I  started 
right  out  to  find  you  and  see  that  you  got  fair 
play,  if  I  could  accomplish  it." 

"You  certainly  turned  the  tables." 

They  went  on  to  discuss  the  present  situation  of 
the  prisoners  and  the  proposed  embarkation  off 
Diamond  Head. 

"One  suggestion  from  me,  captain,"  said  Crane. 
"Our  present  plan  is  for  our  fishing-boat  to  meet 
the  Agamemnon  at  sea.  We  have  already  bought 
the  boat.  Would  it  not  be  possible  for  you  to 
pick  it  up  when  it  comes  alongside?  sling  it 
aboard  with  tackles  fastened  to  the  ship's  main 
and  mizzen  yard-arms.  Then,  when  we  reach  the 
Pacific  coast,  we'll  not  need  to  borrow  your 
quarter-boats.  Whereas,  if  we  abandon  our  boat 
off  Diamond  Head,  and  let  it  drift  ashore,  that 
very  thing  may  lead  to  suspicion  and  inquiry." 

"That's  a  good  suggestion,  Mr.  Crane.  I'll  act 
on  it." 

"And  another  suggestion,  captain,  while  I  have 
my  hand  in.  I  imagine  I  know  a  better  place  to 
come  aboard  than  off  Diamond  Head.  The  place 
I  have  in  mind  is  near  the  southeastern  end  of 
the  island,  where  lies  a  long,  narrow  point,  running 
out  into  the  sea.     It  is  known  as " 

"Koko  Head." 

"Precisely.      It    consists    of    a    line    of    craters 


336  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

which  must  have  burst  up  through  the  reef,  and 
the  seaward  face  of  one  of  those  craters  has  been 
breached  by  the  waves.  The  semi-circle  which  is 
left,  forms  a  little  bay,  and  on  the  shore  of  that 
bay  there  stands " 

"A  club-house." 

"Yes.  But  I  understand  that  that  club-house 
has  been  abandoned.  Now,  would  it  not  be  wise 
to  bring  our  fishing-boat  around  to  that  bay,  and 
embark  our  prisoners  there.  From  that  point  we 
could  sail  out  to  meet  you.  That  part  of  the 
island  is  very  secluded.  Off  Koko  Head  we  should 
be  much  less  liable  to  observation  than  if  we 
boarded  the  Agamemnon  off  Diamond  Head." 

"All  right.     Koko  Head  goes." 

They  walked  up  the  wharf  together,  and  were 
about  to  go  their  separate  ways,  when  Coburn 
detained  the  Californian  with  the  words, 

"Oh,  Mr.  Crane.  The  day  after  you  saw  me  at 
the  bungalow,  you  sent  me  a  man — a  Kanaka." 

"Yes.    Was  he  any  use?" 

"Why,  they  put  him  to  work,  and  the  boss- 
stevedore  tells  me  he  worked  very  well  until  the 
first  pay-day.  Then  he  disappeared.  The  other 
hands  thought  he  was  a  little  off, — always  mutter- 
ing about  somebody  who  had  ill-used  him." 

"Well,  he  said  he  wanted  work,  and  I  wanted 
him  to  have  a  chance.  But  I  guess  he's  like  a 
lot  of  these  natives,  once  the  gin  gets  its  grip 
on  them.  As  soon  as  they  earn  a  little  money, 
they  drink  it  up,"  and  Crane  and  the  captain 
bade  each  other  "Good  night."  They  would  keep 
in  touch  until  the  day  of  sailing — a  date  which 


KOKO  HEAD  337 

is  always  an  uncertain  quantity  when  a  wind- 
jammer is  concerned. 

Now  commenced  days  of  bustle  and  preparation 
behind  the  triple  line  of  cocoa-palms  in  Manoa 
valley.  And  meanwhile,  the  Agamemnon  was  being 
given  the  quickest  of  "quick  dispatch."  The 
heavy  brown  sacks  of  sugar  went  pouring  into 
the  enormous  hold.  Three  days  later  Crane  was 
told  by  the  captain,  "We  sail  day  after  to-morrow, 
early  in  the  morning." 

That  night  the  president's  motor-car  was  in 
request  once  more.  All  night  it  was  busy  trans- 
porting the  Japanese  and  their  prisoners  and  their 
camp  equipment,  installment  by  installment,  from 
Manoa  valley  to  the  southeastern  end  of  the  island. 
But  they  were  not  taken  direct  to  the  volcanic 
bay  at  Koko  Head.  No  machine  could  run  over 
the  narrow  trail  which  climbed  those  craters. 
For  the  time  being,  they  were  taken  within  a  little 
valley,  or  deep  ravine,  which  burrowed  into  the 
hills.  Crane  remembered  it  well,  for  the  ridge  on 
its  eastern  side  was  the  very  one  where  ran  the 
trail  he  had  descended  on  the  day  of  his  "capture." 
There,  within  a  group  of  trees,  the  camp  of  the 
Japanese  was  pitched.  Within  it,  the  prisoners, 
securely  handcuffed  and  bound,  were  guarded. 
They  snatched  a  few  hours'  sleep.  Then,  after  a 
hurried  breakfast.  Crane  started  with  the  majority 
of  the  Japanese  for  Koko  Head.  One  man  was 
left  to  oversee  the  captives  and  prevent  any 
attempt  at  escape. 

Two  hours  before  noon  they  were  climbing  the 
volcanic  slopes  of  Koko  Head,  where  they  would 


338  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

meet  Wanto  and  the  rest  of  their  party,  who  had 
been  commissioned  to  bring  the  fishing-boat  from 
Honolulu.  Once  in  touch  with  Wanto  and  their 
effects  safely  on  board  the  craft,  they  would 
return  to  the  camp.  On  the  following  night  they 
would  transfer  the  prisoners  to  the  boat.  After 
that  nothing  would  remain  but  to  wait  until  the 
Agamemnon  appeared  around  the  point,  when 
they  would  run  out  before  the  trade-wind,  meet 
the  square-rigger,  and  be  hoisted  on  board.  Then, 
Ho!  for  California. 

They  came  to  the  top  of  the  trail,  where  they 
stood  on  the  verge  of  a  cliff  perhaps  three  hundred 
feet  high,  and  looked  down  into  the  little  bay 
that  filled  the  broken  crater.  The  inner  wall  rose 
in  cliffs  built  of  layers  of  volcanic  rock  which 
made  the  margin  of  the  haven,  surrounding  nearly 
three  quarters  of  a  circle.  The  rocks  were  of  a 
dark  red  color,  formed  from  half  molten  lava  and 
cinders  fused  together  and  hardened  into  stone. 
What  a  story  they  told  of  volcanic  fires!  The 
place  was  so  wild,  so  lonely,  and  so  eloquent  of 
primitive  forces  and  a  land  in  the  making,  that 
it  seemed  almost  incredible  that  it  lay  only  a  few 
miles  from  a  modern  city.  But  close  by  the  shore 
they  saw  the  fishing-boat  lying  at  anchor,  its  sails 
hauled  down.  Wanto  and  his  boat  were  on  hand 
as  per  schedule.  It  only  remained  to  find  the 
trail  down  the  cliff. 

It  was  a  narrow,  break-neck  track,  guarded  in 
places  with  chains;  in  places  steps  had  been  cut. 
But  it  led  down  the  only  practicable  place,  and  at 
its   foot   stood   the   abandoned   club-house — a   low 


KOKO  HEAD  339 

frame  cottage,  painted  white,  with  a  wide  verandah 
facing  the  sea.  Wanto  and  his  men  sat  on  the 
verandah,  smoking  their  perpetual  cigarettes. 

There  ensued  a  discussion  and  minute  criticism 
of  the  boat.  Into  its  lockers  were  packed  the 
effects  brought  from  Manoa  valley.  By  the  time 
the  party  was  ready  to  return  to  the  camp,  a 
glance  at  the  sun  convinced  them  that  the  hour 
was  nearly  noon.  Why  not  eat  lunch  before 
starting? 

Wanto  had  a  supply  of  provisions.  A  meal  was 
cooked  and  eaten.  Then  followed  an  hour's  rest 
in  the  shade  of  the  club-house  verandah.  While 
they  rested,  a  program  for  the  night  was  arranged. 

And  to-morrow!  As  the  Califomian  thought  of 
it,  he  walked  to  the  margin  of  the  little  bay  and 
looked  out  to  sea.  To-morrow  they  would  watch 
the  great  four-master  skimming  over  those  blue 
waves,  "bucking  through  the  channel,  short  tacks 
to  windward."  To-morrow  would  behold  them 
standing  on  the  long  steel  deck  beneath  the 
white  pyramids  of  sail.  To-morrow  they  would 
see  the  volcanic  peaks  of  Oahu  sink  beneath  the 
blue  horizon. 

Crane  and  his  party  turned  back  to  the  camp. 
While  they  had  no  doubt  that  all  was  well  there, 
they  began  to  be  in  a  nervous  hurry  to  return 
and  make  sure. 

They  crossed  the  heights  of  Koko  Head,  and 
descended  to  a  causeway  leading  over  a  shallow 
arm  of  the  sea;  they  reached  the  highway.  This 
they  followed  to  a  point  where  a  trail  turned  into 
the  valley  where  the  camp  had  been  pitched. 


340  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

They  stopped  in  the  road  for  a  moment,  to 
drink  from  the  canteens  carried  by  two  of  their 
party.  From  where  they  stood  they  could  not  see 
the  camp.  Heavy  algeroba  trees  and  guava  scrub 
were  round  it,  concealing  its  presence  from  the 
outside  world.  But,  while  they  waited,  some  of 
the  party  were  glancing  carelessly  up  the  valley, 
in  the  direction  of  the  camp.  Suddenly  they 
shaded  their  eyes  with  their  hands  and  commenced 
an  excited  chatter. 

The  chatter  rose  to  a  yell.  Crane  dropped  his 
canteen  and  turned  to  stare  in  the  direction  in 
which  the  Japanese  were  pointing.  A  line  of  men 
caught  his  attention;  the  men  were  climbing  the 
valley-wall,  which  at  that  point  was  low. 

Crane  lifted  his  marine-glass.  In  its  poweful 
lenses  the  hill-climbers  were  only  a  hundred  feet 
away.  Certainly  most  of  them  were  Asiatics. 
But  at  the  head  of  the  line  ran  five  white  men, 
made  conspicuous  by  their  soiled  suits  of  white 
duck.  One  of  them  was  tall  and  stout;  another 
was  short,  with  silvery  whiskers. 

The  prisoners  were  loose ! !  Crane  counted  them 
— twenty-seven  men.  Then  the  guard  must  have 
turned  traitor! 


XXV 

THE  CLIFF 

WO  ^^^^  ^^^^^  *^"^'  boys,"  Crane  shouted.  "It's 

K^    life  or  death  for  us." 

The  plan  of  the  runaways  was  apparent. 
They  could  not  escape  from  the  valley  to  the 
main  highway — the  Honolulu  road, — for  the  Cali- 
fornian  and  his  party  were  already  at  the  entrance 
to  the  valley.  But  they  could  climb  the  hills  by 
the  trail  which  Crane  had  descended  on  the  day 
of  his  "capture."  By  retracing  his  track,  they 
could  escape  to  the  W  plantation. 

They  could  do  it,  if  they  were  not  captured 
first.  That  was  the  only  thing  which  could  save 
Crane  and  his  men.  All  broke  into  a  run  as  they 
dashed  in  pursuit.  They  must  necessarily  skirt 
the  camp.  As  they  passed  it,  they  saw  the  remains 
of  the  Japanese  guard.  The  Koreans  had  accounted 
for  him. 

Then  who  was  the  twenty-seventh  man?  No 
time  to  puzzle  over  that  problem.  Up  the  trail 
they  went,  gaining,  gaining,  all  the  while,  for 
the  fugitives  were  soft  and  in  poor  condition  for 
hill-climbing. 

The  distance  to  the  summit  was  not  great.  As 
the  range  had  fallen  off  in  altitude,  it  had  grown 
narrow.  Whereas  behind  Honolulu  the  distance 
by  trail  to  the  top  was  five  or  six  miles,  here  it 


342  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

was  only  two.  The  runaways  were  a  scant  hundred 
yards  ahead  when  they  reached  the  summit.  They 
disappeared  over  the  crest.  The  Japanese  came 
panting  in  pursuit.  They  scrambled  up  the  stony 
trail,  and  when  they  gained  the  summit  ran  across 
the  black  volcanic  rocks  and  peered  down  to 
the  plain  below.  Two  thousand  feet  beneath  them 
they  saw  the  shadow  of  the  great  cliff,  stretching 
jagged  and  gigantic  across  the  fields  of  cane.  The 
shadows  were  long,  for  the  afternoon  was  far 
advanced.  Immediately  below  the  faces  of  the 
party,  as  they  rested  on  hands  and  knees  on  the 
outermost  verge  of  rock,  there  was  a  short  slope, 
inclining  to  the  left.  This  was  the  first  stage  of 
the  trail.  At  the  end  of  a  hundred  feet  it 
apparently  broke  off  to  fall  over  a  precipice;  but 
Crane  knew  that  it  zig-zagged  from  channel  to 
channel,  keeping  its  grip  on  the  front  of  the 
mountain-wall  in  some  miraculous  fashion. 

Well,  if  the  runaways  could  descend,  so  could 
their  pursuers.  But  before  venturing  down  that 
dizzy  trail,  they  stopped  to  stretch  short  lengths 
of  cord  from  man  to  man.  Now  they  must 
descend.  "All  ready,"  and  they  balanced  on  the 
verge  of  the  cliff  for  a  moment,  before  trusting 
their  limbs  and  lives  to  the  break-neck  track 
below  them. 

At  that  very  moment  a  movement  at  the  end 
of  the  "hundred  feet  of  trail"  caught  Crane's  eye. 
A  battered  straw  hat,  minus  a  crown,  appeared 
above  the  rocks.  Its  owner  scrambled  into  view. 
They  recognized  the  Hawaiian  beggar. 

So  he  was  the  twenty-seventh  man!     And  had 


THE  CLIFF  343 

all  of  the  runaways  lost  their  nerve?  Were  they 
returning  rather  than  risk  the  descent? 

But  no  one  followed  the  Hawaiian.  Slowly  and 
shame-facedly  he  climbed  to  the  place  where 
Crane  and  his  party  were  standing.  He  appeared 
to  be  under  an  intense  nervous  strain.  Although 
they  questioned  him  closely,  his  account  was  so 
disconnected  as  to  be  barely  intelligible.  And  in 
his  excitement  he  could  express  himself  only  in 
his  native  tongue,  which  the  Japanese  understood 
but  poorly. 

They  paused  to  hear  the  Hawaiian's  story. 
What  a  scene  and  what  a  setting!  For  a  stage 
there  was  the  summit  of  that  huge  volcanic  rock 
in  mid-ocean — a  narrow  rock-platform,  barely  a 
dozen  feet  in  width.  On  one  side  stood  the  group 
of  Japanese,  fingering  their  cane-knives.  Before 
them  the  Hawaiian  balanced  on  the  edge  of  the 
precipice.  Behind  him  spread  the  stupendous 
panorama  of  cane-fields  and  sandy  shore  and  coral 
reef  and  distant,  dark  blue  ocean,  sparkling 
beneath  the  trade-wind.  There  stood  the  man,  his 
rags  fluttering  in  the  gentle  wind,  while  he  half 
shouted  a  torrent  of  his  native  Hawaiian. 

He  stood  facing  the  west,  where  the  sun,  almost 
on  the  point  of  setting,  hovered  above  the  rim  of 
the  world.  Its  level  rays  glared  on  his  face.  With 
waving  arms,  his  eyes  rolling,  he  was  pointing, 
to  the  rocks,  to  the  precipice,  and  behind  him  to 
the  plain  below.  He  was  telling  how  he  had 
wandered  into  the  camp,  where  his  services  had 
been  impressed  as  a  guide  over  the  old  native 
trail.     He  was  saying  that,  in  trying  to  guide  the 


344  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

party  down  the  cliff,  he  "had  made  a  mistake/* 
The  result  had  been  that  the  president  and  his 
party  had  fallen  over  a  cliff  a  thousand  feet  high. 
That  much  was  certain.  But  how  the  mistake 
had  occurred  was  not  at  all  clear.  And  how 
the  prisoners  had  got  loose,  the  man  did  not  know. 

Crane  had  his  own  opinion  as  to  how  the 
mistake  had  happened,  but  it  was  not  for  him  to 
accuse  the  man.  A  few  of  the  Japanese  were 
sent  down  the  trail  with  the  Hawaiian  to  confirm 
what  he  said.  They  descended  to  the  point 
where  he  claimed  the  party  had  gone  over  the 
cliff,  and  came  back,  corroborating  his  story. 

"Then  the  next  thing  to  do,''  said  Crane,  "is 
to  report  the  accident  to  the  high  sheriff  of 
Hawaii,"  and  he  turned  to  the  Hawaiian. 

"You  must  make  the  report.  Our  work  is  done. 
But,  Wanto,  take  this  man  to  Honolulu  and  see 
that  he  reports  to  the  high  sheriff,  and  see  that 
he  doesn't  report  too  much.  However,  there  is 
no  real  danger  from  him.     He  knows  very  little." 

For  a  moment  Wanto  was  inclined  to  demur. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  Crane.  "We  had 
nothing  to  do  with  this  accident.  We  were  not 
with  the  runaways  when  it  occurred.  As  the 
situation  now  stands,  we  are  absolved  from  all 
responsibility." 

Wanto  called  one  of  his  men.  Between  them 
they  hurried  the  Hawaiian  down  the  trail  to  the 
Honolulu  road.  To  be  brief,  the  man  made  his 
report  to  the  high  sheriff,  was  detained  for  a 
few  days  as  a  witness,  and  then  released. 

After  Wanto  had  gone,   Crane   delayed   on   the 


THE  CLIFF  345 

hill  for  a  few  minutes,  resting  there  on  the  volcanic 
rocks. 

"Our  work  is  over,"  he  repeated.  Then  he 
asked  the  Japanese  whether  they  still  wished  to 
go  to  California.    They  assured  him  that  they  did. 

"Then  you  will  sail  in  the  Agamemnon,"  he 
answered.  "You  will  carry  out  the  program  we 
arranged,  except  that  there  will  be  no  prisoners 
to  g^ard. 

He  himself  would  return  to  the  city,  where  he 
would  take  passage  in  the  next  steamer  for  the 
mainland.  Still  he  delayed,  while  he  thought  of 
the   "prisoners." 

He  thought  of  them  all:  the  president,  with  his 
fondness  for  philosophising;  Frank  Atten,  with 
his  expansive  waist-measure  and  his  genial  smile; 
Charley  Deane,  the  immaculate;  the  manager, 
with  his  ability  to  drive;  Carding,  a  promising 
young  fellow,  in  spite  of  his  occasional  boyish 
blunders.  All  of  them  had  possessed  qualities 
which  placed  them  well  above  the  average.  All 
of  them  had  belonged  to  the  "responsible  citizen" 
class.  And  yet  all  had  perished  miserably,  and 
at  the  hands  of  a  beggar.  What  was  the  reason? 
What  common  failing  did  they  possess,  which  had 
led  them  on  to  their  own  destruction. 

The  answer  was  easy.  Selfishness,  greed, 
grasping  shortsightedness,  the  desire  to  exploit 
their  fellow-men  rather  than  to  serve  and  to 
create;  methods  which  succeed  only  when 
employed  against  those  who  have  not  the  courage 
to  resent  them. 

They   had  gotten  the  money   of  the   California 


346  THE  FLAMINGOES  NEST 

stockholders;  that  is,  the  money  had  put  them 
in  possession  of  a  magnificent  piece  of  property; 
and  they  had  proposed  to  repay  the  Californians 
by  giving  them  a  chance  to  sell  out  for  half  the 
sum  they  had  invested.  As  a  result,  the  Californ- 
ians had  taken  the  plantation  from  them. 

They  had  defrauded  the  Japanese  of  one  day's 
pay,  and  had  put  them  on  the  blacklist,  and  by 
so  doing  had  driven  the  Japanese  desperate,  until 
they  were  ready  for  any  enterprise. 

They  had  defrauded  captain  Coburn,  but  the 
result  had  been  that  at  the  two  critical  moments 
when  it  seemed  as  though  they  had  the 
Californians  and  the  Japanese  beaten,  Coburn  had 
put  them  back. 

And  finally,  wnen  through  Crane's  over-confi- 
dence and  his  carelessness  in  leaving  them 
inadequately  guarded,  they  had  won  their  liberty 
and  a  last  chance  to  turn  the  tables  for  good  and 
all,  they  had  lost  their  lives  through  the  very  man 
whom  they  had  made  a  beggar  and  a  butt.  And 
they  had  lost  their  lives  because  they  had  made 
him  a  beggar  and  a  butt. 

So  Crane  reviewed  the  situation  in  his  mind, 
and  as  he  did  so,  he  thought  with  contempt  of 
those  who  hold  that  "virtue  is  its  own  reward," 
and  that  chicanery  is  the  only  thing  that  pays. 

Now  the  sun,  like  a  broad  red  target,  touched 
the  rim  of  the  western  horizon.  As  Crane 
prepared  to  descend  the  hill,  he  thought  of  the 
day  when  he  had  watched  Sherrill's  aeroplane 
from  those  very  heights. 


THE  CLIFF  347 

"I'll  have  quite  a  story  to  tell  the  lieutenant," 
he  thought,  and  he  wondered  absently  what  the 
lieutenant  was  doing. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  at  that  moment  the  officer 
was  closely  engaged  with  very  important  business, 
the  particulars  of  which  "will  follow  immediately." 


XXVI 

MARJORIE   BURL 

BELOW  the  walls  of  Diamond  Head,  and  about 
four  miles  from  Honolulu  harbor,  there  lies 
a  public  park.  The  steep  red  sides  of  the 
crater  overlook  the  lawns  and  lakes  and  winding 
avenues  where  peacocks  spread  their  plumes  and 
scream  beneath  the  trees.  And  near  that  park 
there  is  a  wonderful  aquarium,  which  is  reckoned 
as  one  of  the  sights  of  the  city. 

It  is  a  cave-like  place.  Within  it  a  deep  twilight 
reigns.  The  light  filters  through  the  tanks  in 
which  the  fish  are  swimming — the  gorgeous  fish 
of  the  tropics,  sky-blue  and  rose  and  salmon-pink, 
while  others  display  their  zebra  stripes  of  black 
and  yellow.  Their  colors  are  gorgeous,  their 
forms  are  fantastic,  their  tone  is  the  exotic  tone 
of  the  torrid  zone. 

It  was  to  this  aquarium  that  Miss  Burl  and  her 
brother  came  on  the  afternoon  of  that  day.  And 
there  it  was  that  lieutenant  Sherrill  came,  not  five 
minutes  after  their  arrival.  Possibly,  on  the 
evening  before,  the  young  lady  may  have  hinted 
her  plans.  Never,  in  the  lieutenant's  opinion, 
would  it  do  for  her  to  visit  a  place  so  near  Fort 
Ruger  without  a  guide.  And  there  was  a  question 
which  his  wished  to  ask. 


MARJORIE  BURL  349 

The  lieutenant  did  not  wear  his  white  uniform, 
with  its  glittering  shoulder-straps  and  braid,  of 
the  night  in  the  palace.  Fresh  from  aeroplane 
practice,  he  was  in  khaki. 

Side  by  side,  he  and  Marjorie  Burl  made  the 
rounds  of  the  dim  halls.  But  the  young  lady's 
enjoyment  was  marred  a  little  by  the  fact  that 
there  were  no  chairs  in  the  aquarium. 

"There  is  a  rest-house  in  the  park,"  the  lieu- 
tenant told  her;  "let  me  take  you  there.  It's  not 
five  minute's  walk  from  here.  Later  in  the  after- 
noon the  regiment  will  be  on  dress-parade  in  the 
aviation-field.    Perhaps  you  will  enjoy  seeing  that." 

They  walked  across  the  road  and  into  the  park, 
to  where  the  rest-house  stood  beneath  a  group  of 
banyan  trees.  And  there  they  rested  in  a  pair  of 
deep  wicker  chairs. 

One  side  of  the  room  was  a  great  arched 
window  rising  from  the  floor,  its  glass  panels 
swinging  on  hinges  out  over  a  balcony.  Flung 
wide  open,  it  afforded  a  view  down  an  avenue 
bordered  by  algeroba  trees — the  trees  leading  for 
a  hundred  yards  to  the  margin  of  a  little  lake, 
where  a  grove  of  cocoa-palms  grew  on  the  edge 
of  the  water.  Avenue  and  water  and  palms  and 
bright  blue  sky,  foam-flecked  with  feathery  clouds, 
blended  into  a  single  harmonious  effect.  Its  frame 
was  the  arch  of  the  window. 

For  a  while  they  lingered  in  the  tea-room, 
admiring  the  perfect  picture  before  them.  Then 
they  rose  and  walked  down  the  avenue  until  they 
stood  on  the  margin  of  the  water.  The  little  lake 
was   very   small,   no   larger   than   a   pond.     Lilies 


350  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

by  hundreds  slept  on  its  surface.  From  the 
opposite  shore,  where  the  cocoa-palms  waved  their 
graceful  fronds  in  the  fragrant  air,  a  marble 
summer-house  gleamed  at  them  out  of  the  shade. 

Marjorie  Burl  and  the  officer  circled  the  lily- 
pond  and  entered  the  summer-house.  Semi- 
circular in  shape,  it  was  wide  open  in  front,  with 
a  floor  of  blue  tiles  and  a  wall  in  eight  panels, 
and  from  those  panels  the  roof  sloped  upward 
to  a  point.  Each  panel  was  white  marble — marble 
through  which  there  drifted  green  streaks  and 
veins.  A  great  splash  of  color  was  lent  by  a 
crimson  velvet  pillow  where  it  lay  on  the  deep 
leather  cushion  that  covered  a  low  stone  bench. 

Marjorie  Burl  took  a  place  on  the  low  stone 
bench.  She  made  a  lovely  picture, — try  to  image 
it;  the  tall  girl,  all  white,  with  a  light  blue 
ribbon  around  her  blond  hair,  sitting  on  the  yellow 
leather  cushion  before  a  background  of  green- 
veined  marble.  On  her  left  arm  she  carried  a 
bouquet  of  red  rosebuds,  glowing  in  a  profusion 
of  green  leaves.  In  her  right  hand  she  held  a  book 
of   verse. 

"May  I  ask  whose  verses  you  have  been 
reading?"  the  lieutenant  inquired. 

"They  are  John  Masefield's,"  she  replied.  "Some 
of  his  lines  have  simply  fascinated  me,  they  are 
so  very  appropriate  to  these  islands.  Here  he 
gives  a  picture  of  a  ship  arriving  in  port,  a  great 
ship  which  has  stormed  around  Cape  Horn, 

"To  come  after  long  months,  at  rosy  dawn, 
Into  the  placid  blue  of  some  smooth  bay. 
Treading  the  quiet  water  like  a  fawn 


MARJORIE  BURL  351 

Ere  yet  the  morning  haze  was  blown  away, 
A  rose-flushed  figure,  putting  aside  the  gray. 
And  anchoring  there  before   the  city  smoke 
Rose,  or  the  church-bells  rang  or  men  awoke." 

She  was  reading  with  such  a  captivating  play 
of  rosy  lips  and  white  teeth  and  sparkling  gray 
eyes,  he  found  her  face  a  more  fascinating  study 
than  any  verse.     She  continued, 

"And  then  in  the  first  light  to  see  grow  clear 
That  long-expected  haven,  filled  with   strangers. 
Alive  with  men  and  women;  see  and  hear 
Its  clattering  market  and  its  money-changers; 
And  hear  the  surf  beat  and  be  free  from  dangers. 
And  watch  the  crinkled  ocean  blue  with  calm 
Drowsing  beneath  the  Trade,  beneath  the  palm." 

"He  surely  must  have  had  Honolulu  harbor  in 
mind  when  he  wrote  that,"  said  Sherrill. 

The  lieutenant  had  remained  standing  while 
she  read,  perhaps  because  it  gave  him  a  better 
opportunity  to  watch  her.  How  he  loved  to 
study  the  smooth  oval  of  her  face  and  her  rounded 
chin!  Could  any  artist  shape  curves  more  lovely? 
He  was  sure  it  would  be  impossible. 

Could  their  surroundings  have  been  more 
romantic?  From  the  neighboring  shore  there 
drifted  toward  them  a  low  rumble,  the  roll  of 
the  surf  on  the  reef.  Otherwise,  the  soft  rustling 
of  palm-branches  was  the  only  sound  that  reached 
the  ear.  All  around  them  the  fragrance  of  vanilla 
floated  in  the  air, — the  soft,  warm,  langorous 
air  of  the  tropics.  While  Marjorie  had  been 
reading  John  Masefield's  lines,  some  lines  of 
Shakespeare  had  occurred  to  Sherrill:^ — "There  is 


352  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men,"  and  so  forth.  He 
decided  that  the  time  had  come  for  him.  He 
took  the  tide.     And  his  venture  prospered. 

No  interruption  came  until  they  had  finished 
settling  it  all,  between  them,  to  their  own  complete 
satisfaction.  Then  they  heard  the  triumphant 
swell  of  military  music.  A  regiment  was  at  dress- 
parade,  on  the  oval  of  the  aviation-field.  The 
clear  calls  of  the  bugles  came  on  the  breath  of 
the  trade-wind,  followed  by  the  crash  of  the 
military  band.  The  El  Capitan  march  rang  out. 
It  seemed  to  celebrate  their  bliss,  to  blend  with 
the  very  spirit  of  their  hour. 

They  sat  side  by  side  on  that  low  stone  bench, 
and  they  talked  of  the  evening  when  first  they 
had  met,  and  they  traced  their  acquaintanceship 
down  to  that  very  minute.  He  told  her  how  he 
had  loved  her  ever  since  he  first  saw  her — a 
tall  girl,  all  in  white,  with  a  light  blue  ribbon 
around  her  blond  hair — crossing  the  hotel  parlor. 

"In  a  way,  I  owe  my  happiness  to  Mr.  Crane," 
he  said,  "for  it  was  through  him  we  met." 

And  then  they  went  on  to  make  plans  for  the 
future.  The  lieutenant's  dreams  were  very  rosy. 
All  men  talk  soft  nonsense  on  occasion,  and 
Sherrill  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  He 
suggested  a  tour  around  the  world. 
.  "Imagine  us  drifting  in  rickshaws  along  the 
tree-shaded  paths  of  Old  Japan,  or  yachting  in 
the  harbors  of  Australia;  wandering  among  the 
ruins  of  almighty  Rome,  or  leaning  on  a  bridge 
which  spans  the  Amo." 

Marjorie  let  him  talk,  but  then  she  said. 


MARJORIE  BURL  353 

"What  you  suggest  is  very  delightful,  but — I 
have  just  completed  one  journey  around  the  world. 
Wouldn't  it  be  more  delightful  still  to  spend  our 
honeymoon  right  here  in  the  Paradise  of  the 
Pacific?" 

Of  course  she  was  right,  and  instantly  the 
lieutenant's  dreams  took  a  new  direction. 

"We  will  sail  away  to  the  Garden  Island,  a 
hundred  miles  over  there,"  and  he  pointed.  "We'll 
charter  a  little  steamer  for  our  own  exclusive  use." 

"It  will  be  our  yacht."  Her  gray  eyes  were 
sparkling. 

"And  in  the  Garden  Island  I  can  show  you  a 
thousand  delicious  tropical  pictures,  all  of  them 
different  from  those  of  this  island,  and  all  of 
them  delightful."  The  sparkle  in  his  eyes  matched 
the  light  in  hers. 

"We'll  find  no  cities  like  Honolulu,  I  suppose." 

"Instead,  we'll  discover  a  dozen  little  towns, 
scattered  along  the  shore,  dreaming  beneath  their 
palm   trees." 

"Splendid!  We'll  make  our  home  in  the  boat, 
and  go  coasting  from  port  to  port,  and  drifting 
from  village  to  village." 

"We'll  linger  in  each  place  as  long  as  we  please, 
and  then  go  on  to  the  next." 

"We'll  ascend  the  tropical  valleys!" 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  walk  on  the  banks  of  the 
winding  streams,"  and  he  grew  poetical.  "From 
beneath  the  palms  we'll  watch  the  shores  of 
sunlit  bays  where  the  blue  waves  ripple  to  a 
beach  of  coral  sand." 


354  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Just  then  there  came  to  his  mind  the  favorite 
lines  of  the  late  president  of  the  Cosmos  Club: 

"Long-crested  waves  that  haste  to  reach 
And  perish  on  a  snow-white  beach; 
A  shining  shallop,  trim  and  frail, 
Borne  down  upon  the  spicy  gale; 

Two   lovers   on  the   ocean   vast — 

Two  lovers  loving  well  at  last 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  sail." 

He  quoted  the  lines  to  Marjorie,  and  the  talk 
rambled  on  until  the  time  came  when  he  must 
return  her  to  the  hotel. 

They  planned  to  meet  again  that  evening  in 
another  of  Honolulu's  parks,  where  the  Territorial 
Band,  once  the  Royal  Hawaiian,  would  g^ve  an 
open-air  concert.  Marjorie  Burl  came  with  her 
parents.  Professor  and  Mrs.  Burl  had  been 
pleased  to  bestow  their  most  gracious  approval 
upon  the  engagement.  In  fact,  they  had  seen  for 
some  days  how  the  tide  was  running. 

Lieutenant  Sherrill  came,  to  saunter  by  Mar- 
jorie's  side,  or  to  sit  with  her  on  a  park  bench. 
And  there  came  Kenneth  Crane.  He  saw  the 
lieutenant  and  his  charming  companion,  and 
hurried  forward,  his  hand  extended,  to  offer 
congratulations,  for  he  knew  what  had  occurred. 
The  officer  had  called  him  up  by  telephone  that 
evening. 

But  the  bandmaster  tapped  on  his  stand.  All 
took  their  places  to  listen  to  the  next  selection. 
It  was  one  known  as  the  "Moorish  Patrol."  It 
portrayed    the    passing    of    a    troop    of    Moorish 


MARJORIE  BURL  355 

cavalry.  The  music  began  so  softly  that  scarcely 
could  it  be  heard.  There  was  a  faint  hum  in  the 
air,  a  hum  which  was  broken  by  a  distant  jingle. 
Slowly  and  steadily  the  jingle  grew.  The  volume 
of  sound  was  always  increasing  and  building. 
The  patrol  was  approaching.  Now  it  was  passing. 
The  audience  could  almost  see  the  black  Arabian 
horses,  spurning  the  earth  with  their  prancing 
feet;  the  dark  faces  and  flowing  robes  and  snowy 
turbans  of  the  riders;  their  long  lances  and 
curving  swords.  Their  cavalry  band  was  in  full 
swing,  crashing  out  a  melody  which  was  supposed 
to  be  the  wild,  barbaric  music  of  the  Moors. 

How  the  cymbals  and  triangle  crashed  and 
jingled!  But  already  the  music  was  beginning  to 
soften.  The  patrol  had  passed  by  .  It  was  receding 
in  the  distance.  With  a  last  little  "zing"  it  died 
away. 

But,  as  Crane  listened  with  lowered  eyelids, 
the  music  seemed  to  him  to  portray,  not  so  much 
the  passing  of  a  Moorish  patrol,  as  his  own 
experiences  of  the  last  three  weeks. 

He  saw  himself  landing  in  Honolulu,  enchanted 
by  its  tropical  charm,  and  looking  around  while 
he  decided  what  was  best  to  be  done.  Then 
he  saw  his  plans  taking  definite  shape.  He  saw 
himself  coming  to  hand-grips  with  the  enemy; 
complication  building  on  complication.  He  saw 
himself  pursued  by  dogs,  hunted  over  the  island, 
dragged  to  the  Torture  Chamber;  then  freed  as 
by  magic,  his  enemies  once  more  in  his  power. 
Then  he  remembered  those  anxious  hours  in 
Manoa  valley,  when  he  planned  a  way  out.  To-day, 


356  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

the  last  complication  had  been  swept  aside.  The 
last  echoes  of  the  strife  were  dying  away. 

It  had  been  an  audacious  experiment,  full  of 
the  clash  of  wits,  the  excitement  of  the  chase, 
suspense  and  thrill.  And  he  had  come  through 
triumphantly, — but  had  lost  all  the  skin  on  his 
teeth  in  the  coming.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  stop  and  think — think  a  long  time,  before 
he  started  out  again  to  "reform  and  humanize" 
any  of  his  fellow-citizens. 

Then  he  thought  of  what  he  had  said  to  the 
president,  as  to  the  value  of  co-operation.  He 
thought  how  hopeless  his  own  situation  would 
have  been,  had  he  not  had  the  co-operation  of 
lieutenant  Sherrill  and  captain  Coburn. 

There  was  the  captain,  now,  accompanied  by 
his  two  mates,  and  followed  by  the  men  of  the 
Agamemnon.  The  captain,  his  men,  and  his 
mates  were  there  for  an  evening  ashore. 

Coburn  came,  to  take  lieutenant  Sherrill's  hand 
and  add  his  congratulations  to  those  of  Crane. 
There  was  an  intermission  of  ten  minutes  between 
the  first  and  second  parts  of  the  program.  The 
time  was  fully  occupied  with  converation  and  the 
expression  of  good  wishes.  Crane  contrived  to 
whisper  to  the  captain  that  the  villains  of  the 
play,  through  their  own  folly,  were  all  of  them 
gone  "where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling." 
But  the  Japanese  would  sail  in  the  Agamemnon. 
Then  the  band  struck  up  a  lively  dancing  measure, 
and  all  settled  themselves  to  listen  to  the  music. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  concert  was  over.  Crane, 
the    Burls,   and   Sherrill   crowded   around    captain 


MARJORIE  BURL  357 

Coburn  to  bid  him  farewell,  for  they  knew  that 
the  Agamemnon  would  sail  in  the  morning. 

"We  have  a  long  voyage  before  us,"  said  captain 
Coburn.  "As  soon  as  we  have  discharged  cargo 
at  San  Francisco,  we  load  barley  for  Liverpool." 

They  wished  him  "fair  winds  and  a  prosperous 
voyage  around  Cape  Horn." 

"Captain,"  said  Crane,  "I'd  like  to  thank  your 
men  personally  for  what  they  did  for  me." 

Coburn  gave  the  command, 

"Line  up,  boys." 

The  men  fell  into  line.  Probably  their  order 
was  not  so  perfect  as  that  of  a  regiment  on 
dress-parade,  but — ^no  matter.  Crane  walked  down 
the  line,  thanking  the  men.  When  he  had 
exchanged  grips  with  the  last  of  the  Norwegians, 
he  felt  as  though  he  should  not  care  to  do  any 
more  handshaking  that  day.  Then  another  notion 
occurred  to  him. 

"Please  hold  your  men  a  moment,  captain,"  he 
said,  and  he  hurried  to  the  bandstand.  The 
musicians  were  descending  the  steps.  They 
numbered  twenty-five.  In  1913  the  band  was 
less  flamboyant  than  it  had  been  in  the  days  of 
the  monarchy.  It  boasted  only  one  base-drum 
and  one  French  helicon.  Crane  addressed  the 
leader. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  have  enjoyed  the 
music  immensely." 

"Yah." 

"And  I  should  like  to  encourage  your  band 
with  a  little  donation."  Five  twenties  were 
transferred  from  Crane's  vest-pocket  to  the  fingers 


358  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

of  the  bandmaster.  "All  I  want  in  return  is  that 
you  furnish  the  music  for  a  procession  to  the  pier. 
We  will  arrange  it  in  a  minute.  The  Agamemnon 
sails  to-morrow  morning.  Captain  Coburn  and 
his  crew  are  here.    They  are  all  ready  to  march." 

"Sehr  goot!  Sehr  goot!''  and  the  leader 
turned  to  his  men.  "Poys,  von  minute.  Dis 
shentleman  here  vants  us  to  march  to  der  pier  to 
gif  farewell  to  captain  Coburn  and  der  men  of 
der  Agamemnon.  Dis  shentleman  has  yoost  made 
donation  of  one  hundert  toUar  to  der  bant.  And, 
poys,  efery  cent  of  de  money  goes  mit  you!  Poys, 
vill  ve  lead  de  procession?     Vill  ve  hoop  it  up?" 

Did  they  respond?  Would  they  come?  Why, 
they  were  ready  to  lead  the  way  to  the  middle  of 
Honolulu  harbor! 

In  a  twinkling  the  plan  had  been  explained  to 
captain  Coburn  and  the  procession  had  been 
formed.  Lieutenant  Sherrill  and  Majorie  Burl 
stood  arm  in  arm  to  watch  them  march  away. 

They  saw  the  procession  threading  its  way 
through  the  park.  Behind  the  band  came  Crane 
and  the  captain,  arm  in  arm;  then  the  mates,  and 
then  the  seamen.  The  sailors  were  skipping 
along,  rollicking  from  side  to  side,  and  singing 
as  they  went,  for  the  tune  that  the  band  was 
thundering  out  was  the  El  Capitan  march. 

As  they  listened  to  those  glorious  strains, 
lieutenant  Sherrill  looked  at  Marjorie  Burl  and 
Marjorie  Burl  looked  at  lieutenant  Sherrill.  Once 
more  they  seemed  to  stand  in  the  marble  summer- 
house  beneath  the  palms.     Once  more  the  music 


MARJORIE  BURL  359 

seemed  to  celebrate  their  bliss,  to  blend  with  the 
very  spirit  of  their  hour. 

Again  they  turned  to  look  at  the  procession. 
They  saw  it  march  between  the  trees,  out  of 
the  park  and  out  of  their  lives.  They  heard  the 
strains  of  the  band  and  the  songs  of  the  seamen 
roaring  away  into  the  distance.  They  sympathized 
with  Crane's  triumph.  But  his  impromptu  celebra- 
tion appealed  to  them  a  hundred  times  more 
when  they  thought  that  it  was  through  him  that 
they  had  met;  it  was  from  his  visit  to  Honolulu 
they  might  date  their  own  happiness. 


XXVII 

AT    HOME   IN   THE   TROPICS 

A  YEAR  later.  Once  more  the  volcanic  slopes 
of  Diamond  Head  rise  before  us,  for  we 
are  afloat  on  the  Pacific  ocean,  steering 
toward  the  harbor  of  Honolulu,  although  the 
harbor  is  not  yet  in  sight. 

The  day  is  bright  and  breezy,  and  inspiring 
with  the  rush  of  the  trade-wind  and  the  roll  of 
the  crested  seas,  for  it  is  the  month  of  April, 
when  the  winds  and  the  season  are  settled.  A 
golden  sun  pours  its  beams  down  upon  the  blue 
and  white  of  the  Pacific.  From  the  shore  comes 
the  long  roar  of  the  surf,  the  breakers  booming 
on  the  reef  in  regular  sequence. 

Once  more  Crane  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
steamship  "Nevada"  and  let  his  gaze  linger  on 
the  scenes  which  passed  before  him,  watching 
the  shore  of  the  green  tropical  island,  the  fringe 
of  cocoa-palms,  and  the  surf  foaming  over  the 
coral.  He  could  see  the  fields  of  the  W  plantation, 
and  Diamond  Head  where  lay  the  military  aviation- 
field,  and  the  long  volcanic  slopes  that  rose 
between  them  to  break  off  at  the  cliff  where  all 
the  trouble  had  come  to  an  end.  Everything 
reminded  him  of  his  experience  a  year  before. 
Presently  the  "Nevada"  rounded  Diamond  Head. 


AT  HOME  IN  THE  TROPICS  361 

Swinging  around  the  point,  swinging  into  the 
glowing  panorama  of  surf  and  sunshine  and  shore 
which  had  charmed  Crane  on  the  morning  of  his 
first  arrival,  the  steamship  slid  past  the  beach 
at  Waikiki  "where  the  surf  rolls  in,"  anchored  for 
the  quarantine  inspection, '  and  then  steamed  into 
Honolulu  harbor  and  up  to  the  Oceanic  pier. 

There  was  the  same  crowd  on  the  pier  to  meet 
the  steamer — ladies  in  white  linen  dresses,  flower- 
sellers,  newsboys.  But  when  Crane  landed  he 
found  no  conveyance  waiting  for  him.  He  hurried 
to  the  telephone-booth,  where  he  learned  that  he 
should  have  to  wait  an  hour  for  the  carriage  that 
would  take  him  to  his  home.  He  whiled  away 
the  time  by  walking  to  the  breakwater  which 
guards  the  southern  side  of  the  entrance  to 
Honolulu  harbor. 

The  place  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
trees  which  shaded  the  city.  His  eye  had  clear 
sweep  across  their  tops,  and  up  to  the  head  of 
the  valley  behind  Honolulu.  Above  the  hills 
the  clouds  were  gathering.  He  watched  them 
roll  together  and  come  charging  down  the  valley, 
breaking  into  mist  and  showers  as  they  came. 
He  saw  a  glorious  rainbow  span  the  great  gorge. 
Then  the  clouds  cleared,  and  for  a  minute  all 
was  blue  above  the  pass.  Another  minute,  and 
over  the  mighty  V  at  its  upper  end  the  mists 
were  forming  from  clear  air.  Again  the  clouds 
came  rolling  down,  accompanied  by  rain  and 
rainbows.  But  mists  and  showers  never  escaped 
from  the  valley.  All  the  while,  above  the  shore 
where  Crane  was  standing,  the  clear  sky  glowed 


362  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

intensely  blue  and  the  golden  sunlight  poured 
unchecked  on  sand  and  palms  and  sea. 

What  a  land  to  live  in!!  And  his  eye  instinc- 
tively sought  the  slopes  of  Tantalus,  for  there  was 
his  new  home. 

Tantalus?     We  must  tell  where  it  is. 

Two  miles  away  he  saw  the  seaward  face  of 
the  hills,  and  at  their  feet,  resting  against  their 
toes,  the  old  volcanic  cone  of  Punchbowl,  brown 
and  rusty.  Behind  it  a  broad  and  easy  slope  rose, 
green  and  tree-covered,  climbing  slowly  toward 
a  loftier  crater,  perched  high  in  the  hills.  The 
crater's  rim  overtopped  the  plain  by  two  thousand 
feet.     It  was  known  at  Tantalus. 

Far  up  those  slopes  were  colonies  of  delightful 
homes.  We  may  have  given  the  impression  that 
the  hills  near  Honolulu  were  quite  deserted;  and 
that  was  true  where  the  heights  were  climbed 
only  by  rough  cattle-trails.  But  it  was  not  true 
of  Tantalus.  Ascend  those  long  slopes  and  you 
could  find  scores  of  pretty  suburban  homes,  set 
in  splashes  of  flamboyant  vegetation.  Especially 
did  they  nestle  at  the  foot  of  the  crater  itself, 
fifteen  or  sixteen  hundred  feet  above  the  plain. 

Presently  Crane  had  entered  the  carriage  and 
was  ascending  the  long  slope.  As  the  carriage 
followed  the  sweeping  zig-zags  of  the  road,  he 
scanned  anew  the  evidences  pointing  to  the  former 
fiery  history  of  the  island.  He  saw  hills  which 
had  been  covered  with  volcanic  dust  and  cinders. 
He  saw  gigantic  cliffs,  built  of  dark  volcanic 
rock,  layer  on  layer.  He  saw  extinct  craters 
above  and  below.     He  caught  hints  of  the  days 


I 


AT  HOME  IN  THE  TROPICS  363 

when  fire  had  flamed  from  the  crests  of  the  hills, 
when  red-hot  ashes  had  rained  from  the  sky, 
when  roaring  billows  of  white-hot  lava  rolled  to 
the  plain.  But  those  suggestions  were  eclipsed 
by  the  peaceful  beauty  of  to-day.  Nearly  every- 
where, all  had  been  covered  with  a  profusion  of 
tropical  verdure.  The  volcanic  rocks  only  peeped 
out  through  their  mantle  of  grass  and  trees  and 
bushes.  Crest  and  crater  were  bright  in  the 
tropical  light,  which  gleamed  on  their  enamel 
of  green. 

Back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  higher  and 
higher,  climbed  the  road,  through  the  forest 
until  it  came  to  the  foot  af  the  Tantalus  crater. 
Here  it  turned  to  the  right,  to  wind  in  and  out 
among  minor  elevations.  Native  trees,  koa  and 
kukui,  shaded  it  on  either  side.  Then  it  ended 
abruptly  before  a  gate. 

Crane  and  his  companion  left  the  carriage  and 
passed  through  the  gate  and  walked  down  a 
private  way  for  perhaps  a  hundred  yards,  along 
a  green  lane  that  was  lined  with  stakes  which 
had  been  driven  into  the  earth.  All  of  them  were 
leafing  out.  Each  post  and  picket  was  bursting 
into  foliage.  It  was  Robinson  Crusoe's  hedge 
come  true. 

At  the  end  of  the  lane  his  home  stood  before 
him.  Before  it  there  stretched  a  sumptuous 
garden.  With  its  hedge  of  purple  hibiscus,  its 
clusters  of  feathery  acacias,  and  its  broad  beds  of 
golden  poppies,  the  garden  glittered  like  a  jewel- 
casket.  He  lingered  for  a  moment  to  dwell  on 
the  scene. 


364  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

His  eye  followed  a  yellow  path  which  curved 
through  the  lawn.  A  granite  pedestal  stood  by 
the  side  of  the  path,  and  on  the  pedestal  a  granite 
urn,  and  from  the  curving  edge  there  hung  a 
dark  green  vine,  spattered  with  blossoms  of  the 
deepest  red.  Above  the  vine  rose  a  double  circle 
of  flowering  plants,  a  blaze  of  red  and  blue.  In 
the  very  center  a  Japanese  tiger-lily  nodded,  with 
it  long  brown  stamens  and  its  petals  of  pink  and 
white. 

But  the  flowers  were  not  what  caught  Crane's 
eye,  charming  though  they  were.  At  the  foot  of 
the  pedestal  there  played  three  beautiful  children. 
The  eldest — a  boy  of  five — staggered  to  lift  the 
broad  leaf  of  a  banana-palm.  His  two  little  sisters 
raised  their  chubby  arms  to  help  him  hold  it 
level.  Side  by  side,  all  three  walked  in  line, 
shaded  by  the  great,  umbrella-like  leaf. 

Crane's  eye  dwelt  with  aff'ection  and  pride  on 
that  group  for  he  knew  those  children  as  his  own. 
Like  a  sensible  man,  he  had  married  young, 
five  years  before  his  first  trip  to  the  Islands. 
Otherwise,  it  would  have  been  open  to  grave 
doubt  whether  the  proposal  beneath  the  cocoa- 
palms,  which  we  recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
would  have  been  made  by  Sherrill  or  by   Crane. 

It  was  his  wife  who  had  brought  the  carriage 
to  the  pier.  It  was  his  wife  who  now  was  standing 
at  his  side,  admiring  with  him  the  group  on  the 
lawn. 

The  youngsters  were  so  pre-occupied  with  their 
improvised  sunshade,  that  for  a  minute  they  did 
not   know   they   were   observed.     Then   they   saw 


AT  HOME  IN  THE  TROPICS  365 

their  father  and  they  threw  the  leaf  aside  and 
ran  to  meet  him. 

He  lifted  the  smallest  child  in  his  arms,  and 
led  the  way  into  a  home  that  was  a  tropical  idyl. 
The  entrance  was  behind  the  triple  archway  of  a 
portico.  As  its  owner  entered  it,  he  looked 
around  him  with  pardonable  pride. 

The  wide  doors  of  the  portico  opened  into  a 
square  court,  a  cool  and  shady  retreat.  The  place 
was  a  bower  of  beauty.  In  the  center  there  grew 
a  little  jungle  of  green  palms  and  graceful  tree- 
ferns,  sheltering  a  fountain  where  the  water 
dripped  and  fell  with  a  pleasant  splash  and 
tinkle.  There  were  tasteful  stands  of  flowers  and 
ferns  all  around  the  margin  of  the  brick  pavement. 
The  cream-colored  walls  were  half  covered  with 
a  green  trellis  and  broken  by  arches.  In  the  apex 
of  each  arch  was  a  picture  wrought  in  stained 
glass — typical  Hawaiian  landscapes,  the  colors 
flaming  as  beneath  a  blazing  tropic  sun.  A  group 
of  bronze  statuary  stood  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room — three  surf-board  riders  racing  through  the 
surf.  The  young  men  threw  their  arms  wide  as 
they  stood  erect,  balancing  on  the  boards.  A 
fourth  swam  between  them.  With  parted  lips  and 
eager  eyes  and  tense  muscles,  they  depicted  the 
very  spirit  of  the  sport. 

But  the  party  did  not  linger  in  the  court, 
enchanting  though  it  was.  They  passed  through 
one  of  the  archways,  where  a  door  gave  entrance 
to  a  hall  leading  to  the  verandah — or  "lanai"  as 
the   Hawaiians   call   it. 

Coming  from  garden  and  courtyard  the  trans- 


366  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

ition  was  as  startling  as  a  transformation  scene. 
In  the  garden  all  had  been  seclusion.  Surrounded 
by  its  sheltering  trees,  there  had  been  no  hint 
of  the  fact  that  the  place  was  balanced  on  the 
edge  of  a  cliff,  below  which  the  hills  fell  away 
so  steeply  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  lanai  was 
poised  in  mid-air.  From  a  height  of  fifteen 
hundred  feet  they  gazed  out  into  space. 

They  were  looking  down  into  Manoa  valley 
Fifteen  hundred  feet  below  them  lay  the  valley- 
floor,  for  they  stood  on  the  very  verge  of  the 
valley-wall,  at  the  place  where  it  was  steepest — 
the  Manoa  pali.  They  looked  right  down  on  a 
mighty  checker-board  made  up  of  square  miles 
of  tiny  taro-patches ;  the  descent  was  so  steep 
that  it  seemed  as  if  one  might  toss  a  pebble  down 
among  them.  There  lay  the  fields — their  bright, 
luxuriant  green  illuminated  by  a  brilliant  tropical 
sun,  while  the  trade-wind  rippled  over  them, 
wave  following  wave  as  the  leaves  bent  before  it. 

And  beyond  that  valley  they  saw  rice-fields 
stretching  almost  to  the  palm-shaded  beach  of 
Waikiki.  They  could  lean  on  the  railing  and 
look  down  on  the  distant  shore  and  watch  the 
gorgeous  panorama  around  them — a  panorama  of 
green  hills  and  waving  trees  and  bright  blue  sky 
where  sailed  white  fleets  of  clouds  that  went 
drifting  always  toward  the  west,  to  build  great 
mountain-ranges  of  pearl  and  alabaster  along  the 
far  horizon. 

Such  is  the  home  of  the  new  president  of  the 
X  Sugar  Company,  and  such  is  the  view  from 
his  verandah.    From  the  plain  far  below  the  home 


AT  HOME  IN  THE  TROPICS  367 

can  be  seen,  poised  on  the  outermost  verge  of 
a  shoulder  of  the  hills,  its  white  sides  reflecting 
the  brightness  of  the  western  sun,  while  for  back- 
ground there  rise  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky  and 
the  deep  green  of  the  crater-wall.  A  group  of 
Poinciana  Regia  half  surround  the  house  with 
their  masses  of  gorgeous  scarlet,  showing  at  a 
distance  like  a  flock  of  gigantic  flamingoes.  They 
suggested  a  name  for  the  place.  Crane  calls  it 
"The  Flamingo's  Nest." 

It  is  not  true  that  all  Hawaiian  sugar-planters 
live  as  luxuriously  and  delightfully  as  this.  In 
fact,  some  of  them  claim  they  have  hard  work 
to  live  at  all.  But  remember  that  the  X  Sugar 
plantation  is  a  most  productive  estate,  and  Crane, 
as  president  of  the  company,  shares  it  prosperity. 

From  his  verandah  he  loves  to  overlook 
Honolulu  harbor,  where  under  his  initiative  double 
lines  of  cocoa-palms  have  been  planted  from 
breakwater  to  breakwater  to  relieve  the  commercial 
foreground  of  wharves  and  the  commercial  back- 
ground of  warehouses.  Before  the  warehouses  lie 
the  deep-sea  freighters  and  ocean  liners,  their 
hoarse  bellowings  rising  now  and  then  to 
Tantalus,  though  usually  the  trade-wind  carries 
such  sounds  out  to  sea.  And  beyond  the  bay 
lies  a  marvelous  view  over  a  blue  sea,  where  he 
sees  the  white  fringe  of  surf  which  marks  the 
reef,  and  beyond  the  reef  the  green  of  the  shallow 
water  shading  to  the  ultramarine  of  the  ocean, 
the  great  globe-girdling  ocean  which  stretches  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth.  Across  that  ocean  come 
great  steamships   from   Australia   and   China   and 


368  THE  FLAMINGO'S  NEST 

Japan  and  the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  to  fill  their 
holds  with  the  heavy  brown  sacks  of  sugar. 

What  a  lot  of  happiness  a  man  can  extract  from 
life  when  he  takes  a  genuine  delight  and  a  keen 
pleasure  in  smply  seeing  the  beauty  and  grace 
and  charm,  and  the  wonder  and  majesty  and 
magnificence,  which  fill  the  world  all  around  him! 

Not  that  it  is  all  heaven,  even  in  the  Paradise 
of  the  Pacific!  Indeed,  when  Crane  organized 
an  excursion  of  the  two  hundred  California  stock- 
holders and  their  wives  and  families  to  Honolulu, 
some  of  them  claimed  to  find,  instead  of  heaven, 
its  very  reverse.  To  many,  the  sultry  tropical 
climate  is  oppressive  in  the  extreme. 

And  the  thoughtful  reader  may  suggest  that 
there  are  possibilities  of  a  more  serious  drawback 
to  life  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  than  a  sultry 
climate.  In  a  land  where  once  "fire  flamed  from 
the  crests  of  the  hills,  red-hot  ashes  rained  from 
the  sky,  and  roaring  billows  of  white-hot  lava 
rolled  to  the  plain,"  is  there  not  a  possibility  of 
the  recurrence  of  such  phenomena?  One  may 
imagine  the  Honolulu  papers  publishing  extras  to 
announce  "a  stupendous  and  amazing  lava-flow 
in  the  great  island  of  Hawaii!"  Here  come  the 
newsboys,  shouting  the  "Advertiser."  "Extra! 
Extra!  The  city  of  Hilo  buried  beneath  a 
thousand  feet  of  flaming  lava!"  Then,  on  the 
next  day,  there  follow  excursions  by  inter-island 
steamer  to  t^e  scene,  where  a  mighty  river  of 
molten  rock  is  pouring  into  the  ocean,  raising 
it  to  the  boiling  point  for  square  miles.  But,  as 
a   matter  of   fact,   Hawaiian   volcanoes  are   either 


AT  HOME  IN  THE  TROPICS  369 

extinct  or  dying.  Volcanic  outbursts  are  becoming 
mild  and  few,  even  in  the  "big  island"  of  Hawaii. 

Hawaii!  there  is  a  fascination  in  the  name!  It 
calls  up  fancies  of  flying-fish  and  sapphire  seas 
and  gorgeous  flowers  and  jungles  soaked  alter- 
nately in  tropical  sunshine  and  tropical  showers; 
of  dark  blue  skies  where  drift  the  trade-wind 
clouds,  and  glorious  moonlit  nights,  nights  made 
perfect  by  the  moonlight  of  the  tropics,  when  the 
great  moon  hangs  aloft  like  a  golden  globe  and 
bathes  the  landscape  in  its  golden  rays.  On  the 
verandahs  they  are  dancing  to  the  swing  of  a 
native  orchestra  which  blends  its  music  with  the 
plash  of  the  rolling  surf.  Far  out  on  the  reef  the 
boys  are  riding  their  surf -boards.  With  whoop 
and  halloo  they  come  racing  toward  the  shore. 
Hawaii!  land  of  sugar-cane,  coral  and  waving 
groves  of  cocoa-palms. 

Such  is  the  land  where  to-day  the  hero  of  our 
island-drama  dwells, — where  he  loves  to  entertain 
his  friends  from  the  mainland  when  they  see  fit 
to  voyage  across  the  ocean.  He  takes  them  to 
his  Tantalus  home — The  Flamingo's  Nest.  He 
leads  them  into  the  cool  courtyard,  where  they 
may  rest  in  huge  wicker  chairs  by  the  side  of 
the  fern-shaded  fountain.  He  stretches  himself 
in  another  wide  wicker  chair,  between  the  tree- 
ferns  and  the  bronze  pedestal  where  stands  the 
statue  of  the  surf-board  riders.  And  there  he 
chants  the  charms  of  island-life  in  the  Paradise 
of  the  Pacific. 

The   End 


p,^r»oHO 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

2Qfei^aQRllt 

> 

^'■i^'  i»   ii::^f 

•».. 

7Aug'62SSg 

REC'D  LO 

AUG  7    1962 

•^'*'v: 

''d.Nii.mt.i'B'                U""-!-!?"""' 

YC  53376   / 


